


Instant Gratification

by Discotits



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 68,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Discotits/pseuds/Discotits
Summary: Eve does all she can to find Villanelle after the incident, but perhaps someone should have told her that it is never a good idea to invite a serial killer to stay the night.





	1. Immediate Medical Attention

**Author's Note:**

> The story starts at the end of season 1 and so contains all kinds of monstrous spoilers.  
> Finish the show first or be like me and read fanfics halfway through and then forget what was canon and what was not (but should be).
> 
> Also, I like to include tracks that influenced the chapter, and I typically include youtube links to them at the beginning of each of them.  
> For chapter 1, that track is [Stavroz - To Be in Mara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yFCYK22cow)

“Where?!”

She asked again. The old lady looked a little confused, but also a little bit annoyed.

“I told you, I do not know. She left.”

Eve swore. What a royal, bloody, sodding mess.

She knew it was useless to go outside to look for Villanelle, but she went nevertheless, running down the stairs, leaving blood on the railings. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should make a phone call to someone, _anyone_ , at this point, but first, but first… And so she stumbled onto the streets of Paris and _of course_ there was no trace of the girl, not as much as a smear of blood on the wall or pavement. As if she never existed.

She cussed again, dirtier than she’d done in a while. Then she yanked her phone out of her coat pocket and dialed Elena.

“Eve?”

“She’s gone.”

Eve closed her eyes again, pinching the bridge of her nose. She smelled blood and it made her sick, sick to her stomach.

“Who is? Eve, where are you? We’ve been trying to get to you for hours, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m… I’m in Paris, I need you to-”

“Paris?!”

“Yes, I-”

“You followed up on that lead that I sent you?”

“Yes, but you-”

“ _Jesus_.”

“Yes!! And I’m trying to-”

“For fuck’s sake, Eve, tell me-“ Elena took a deep breath. “Tell me _why on earth_ I’m mostly angry with you for not takin me with you.”

Eve laughed, shortly. Then Elena suddenly gasped.

“ _She’s gone_!”

“YES!” This was starting to become old. “And… and I stabbed her.”

It took a little while to explain the – necessary – details to Elena, and Eve was happy that she didn’t push the parts of the story that were vague, didn’t demand a more thorough explanation. She wasn't sure if she could give her one.

Not once in her life had she been this close to killing another human being. Never. Not even when she had lifted a gun and pointed it to Villanelle’s chest. Then again, guns in general were not really present in her life. They had had some training at MI5, for sure, but target practice was not frequent for desk employees and so the weight of the handgun had been unfamiliar to her, the metal cold to her palms. Alien.

A knife, on the other hand, was a whole other story.

She had used knives to make spears as a kid, or to carve out her initials in the floorboards of her childhood bedroom. She had chopped up vegetables with them and had used them to separate a – plucked and prepared – chicken’s body from its legs, back when she still thought she could master cooking. She had studied knives extensively to learn their different purposes, and the ways that people could kill with them, and how an assassin would choose a knife depending on the way they intended to use it later. And so the weight of the blade had somehow felt very natural, and the movement forward as organic as pushing a button in an elevator.

A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how easy it had been, and how little resistance the skin and muscle tissue had provided as the knife slid through. Yes, stabbing someone was easy enough. Living with the consequences, however, was not.

“…and now I’m outside,” she concluded, “and Villanelle is gone. Not a trace of her.” A flock of pigeons flew over, the sound of their flapping wings almost a little, ironic applause. 

“What should we do?”

The words sent a sudden rush of adrenaline back through Eve. Elena didn’t know that Carolyn had disbanded them, that their little secret unit no longer existed. And, perhaps, Eve wasn’t the person to tell her. Not yet.

“Send out a request to all hospitals and private clinics in Paris. She needed immediate medical attention when she… when she left.” After I stabbed her. “She can’t have gotten far.”

“Roger.”

“I’ll stay here, take another look at the apartment. Maybe there are some things there… something that contains any information on the Twelve. I didn’t really get the chance to look around properly before she...” she pulled her lips in, swore internally. “And if she shows up, I… I want to be here.”

There was a short moment of silence.

“Are you sure that is a smart idea?”

Elena was careful, her voice soft. With a pang of guilt, Eve suddenly realized that if the same question had come from Niko, she would’ve exploded. Now, though, she smiled tiredly. “No,” she said. “But it’s the best we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> This story is produced by my frantic brain that cannot stop thinking about serial killers and psychopaths in very nice outfits and so this is sort of a coping mechanism? Which might be nice for other people?? I don't know. There'll be more.  
> Next chapters are longer than this one, too.


	2. Marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Liza Anne - Paranoia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEM6cMBTgTE)
> 
> I'm not sure I'll keep up daily updates, but who knows. I'm still going strong.

“Stitch. Me. Up.”

She really didn’t want to say it again. Also, she wasn’t sure if she actually could. She was cold, strangely cold, and all her muscles trembled, and her ears rang with the sound of a car horn that kept increasing in volume and drowned out all her thoughts. She smelled faintly like the cheap alcohol she’d used earlier to disinfect.

Still, somehow, the guy in front of her looked as if he had it worse. Which was impossible. After all, he did not have a stab wound in his guts, neither was he bleeding to death. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was bleeding onto his floor, and his clothes, and that she had a knife – _the_ knife – pressed against his throat. People usually didn’t like it when she did that. He whimpered, and she bared her teeth and hissed – the last sound she could produce. That seemed to do the trick.

The surgery was painful. Extremely painful. The man winced every time she uttered a sound, which she would’ve found rather unpleasant under normal circumstances. Now she had to tolerate it. Her head was spinning, and at one point she found herself delirious – the man suddenly grew long, curly, black hair out of his bald scalp, and his eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was no longer a man but Eve, and she was digging around in her abdomen, and pulled out something that looked like a heart, it was still beating, and she looked at her and said “I’ll just take this with me, okay?”

The next thing Oksana knew she was laying on a cold, metal table, and she was alone. She inhaled sharply and grimaced when her whole torso screamed out in pain. Slowly, and painfully, she worked herself up on her elbows and looked down at her body.

She hissed. The wound was larger than she wanted. _It shouldn’t even have been there_. The stitches were done well, well enough, but she felt her stomach turn with a heat that she recognized as anger: she was tainted. She was _marked_.

Then she noted the absence of the man, and she got herself off of the table, yanking out her drip and realizing that she was still clutching the knife. She heard mumbling coming from the other room, and when she swung the door open, the man was there, his phone to his bald head, and his eyes grew wide, and she just sighed and rolled her eyes.

….

Her training must have taken over. She barely remembered how she got into the flat, but here she was, perhaps it had been the pile of old newspapers she’d seen through the glass in the front door, or the fact that all the lights in the house went on simultaneously at 18h sharp, but she was sure that the owners would not be back anytime soon and that no one had followed her. Or, at least, sure enough.

She opened the bottle of pain killers that she took from the bathroom and swallowed two heavy ibuprofen with a bit of water. Then she filled the largest glass she could find with water, added salt and sugar and drank the whole thing in one go, wiping off her mouth afterwards. Then she opened the fridge, which was empty except for a bottle of cheap white wine. Not now. Maybe tomorrow.

The freezer, luckily, was stacked with frozen pizzas and ice cream, and she carefully spooned up the last after having finished the pizza. This time she’d even eaten the crust. Then she made her way to the bedroom, every step a torment.

She’d been lucky that Eve was not trained, she thought as she fell back on the bed, exhausted. If Eve had known what she’d been doing, she would have punctured her liver, or her stomach, or a kidney. The image of Eve, hovering over her, the blade still deep in her guts, came back vividly. Bile formed in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it away with great difficulty. Suddenly the ice cream didn’t taste good anymore.

With her left foot, she pushed the container off of the bed, and then she crawled under the blankets, every movement an agony, and slept instantly.

….

Konstantin. She woke with a start from a dream about him, which she immediately forgot upon waking, and registered that it was sunny out and that the room smelled like weakly like foul dairy. The clock on the nightstand read 10:38, so she must have slept for at least twelve hours. That was good. Also, there was no one in the room, and no one had taken or killed her, which was also good.

She moved, carefully, and considered her situation.

First, there was the he fact that she still lived, which meant two things. One, the man did a good job at sewing her up. Two, somehow, Eve managed to not hit anything vital. And that meant that she would be able to get going in a few days, to find a place to lay low and recover fully.

Second, moving beyond physical things, she _felt terrible_. She was mad, furious, intensely angry. She’d been betrayed, and she did not like being betrayed. No one should betray her. Especially not Eve. And with that thought she felt a slick, cold bubble in her stomach, and realized she was sad, which made her even angrier. Next. _Next_.

Third, moving beyond herself to context, she needed to think about what people in her immediate surroundings wanted from her. Eve… Eve would have to wait, she was too difficult to start with, first… the Twelve. She frowned, focused. She had killed her newest handler, what had his name been? Something. She didn’t recall. But anyway, she killed him, and most of the time people didn’t like it if you killed their people, so perhaps the Twelve were angry with her. Perhaps not. After all, she had successfully completed her last assignment – she closed her eyes momentarily. Konstantin. Later.

Then there was this British lady who had visited her in prison. She didn’t know what to make of her. She was such an uninteresting person, her voice was flat and lifeless, and Oksana had been immediately bored when she entered the room. Neither did she have any nice hair, by the way. But she’d told Oksana to kill Konstantin, and that _had_ made her interesting. What was it exactly that she’d said?

She closed her eyes, groaned, concentrated. Carolyn had told Oksana that she could get her out of it, whatever it was, get her to England and provide her with protection, if she killed Konstantin. Which was a _ridiculous_ offer. She hated the weather in England and, besides, she did not need protection. She hadn’t even mentioned any salary, or a job, and frankly, the deal was just plain bad. She’d looked at the woman incredulously and said no, obviously. Next.

Eve. Eve, Eve, Eve. Eve, who told her that she thought about her all the time. She recalled the conflict she’d felt when Eve had been laying on her bed, only yesterday, which felt like years ago. Should she sit down? Should she shoot her? If she sat down, she couldn’t kill her immediately, but she could talk to her, and touch her, and kiss her, and fuck her. And get stabbed. If she shot her, she couldn’t talk to her anymore, and she couldn’t touch her, and kiss her, and fuck her. And she couldn’t get stabbed.

She swore at no one in particular. What would Eve be thinking? She had stabbed Oksana, which was unforgivable, and needed to be reprimanded, or at least acted upon, by herself. But that was about Oksana again, and not about Eve. Eve… said she wanted to help, _after_ stabbing her. Which was, coming from her, completely useless, but did say something about what she was thinking. Apparently she didn’t want Oksana to die, or she wouldn’t have offered help. But then _why_ did she stab Oksana?

She rolled over to her right side, but that hurt too much, and so she rolled back on her back. This was difficult, and she was hungry, and she couldn’t stay here for much longer. As she got herself upright, a plan suddenly took form in the back of her mind, and her brows went up momentarily before a look of satisfaction settled over her entire face.

Yes. That would work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading
> 
> Also let me know if you liked it, or if you think things should be different, and what you think about the chapter track, and what the weather is like where you are and whatever?


	3. Embarrassed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [General Elektriks - The Man Who Unravelled](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9vXc4ewJqg)

Villanelle’s apartment was completely empty. There hardly were any personal belongings. That is, if you didn’t count the ridiculous number of perfume bottles or the insanely expensive satin bedsheets that were neatly folded in a box under the bed. In a kitchen drawer she found a stack of notepads, all penned over in various languages and lists, which she photographed extensively. But no letters, no photographs, no diaries or agenda’s, not even a calendar. Nothing that gave a hint of the person who lived here.

Everything smelled like the spilled champagne and she regretted breaking the bottles, even though it had been _so good_ to hear them shatter – the liquor dried up sticky and the scent of alcohol made her light-headed.

She was about to give up when she noticed something. On the floor, in the pile of clothing she’d ripped off the hangers hours before, a little piece of paper stuck out of a horribly pink dress. Carefully, she bent over the clothing and took out the paper, unfolded it slowly.

It was a drawing. A drawing of a woman’s head full of strong, black curls.

She choked, folded the drawing back up again, stuffed the drawing down her coat pocket – the one not containing her phone, since that one had blood all over it.

Elena called back within the hour, without any luck. Eve told her to keep trying.

She realized that she was scared. Immensely scared.

With every passing minute, chances of them finding Villanelle decreased, and brought the moment that Elena found out that they had been disbanded closer. With every passing minute, the image of Villanelle, face-down in a pool of blood, grew stronger.

Her phone rang. “Yes?”

“Eve.” It was Carolyn’s voice. Eve swore under her breath. “I think it is high time you get back to London, considering that you should have been here with me.”

“I understand, but…”

Carolyn sighed. “No, Eve. You do not understand. See, I cannot fire you _again_ from a department that officially didn’t, and also unofficially no longer exists. I can, however, press charges for you hindering MI6 operations and using their funds illegally, and I am very inclined to do so.”

Eve thought it was probably best to keep quiet.

“I was told by Elena that you found Villanelle.”

“Um, yes. I did.”

“And that you… stabbed her,” Carolyn’s voice pitched up a little at the verb, almost as if she was surprised she ever had to use that word conjoint with Eve, “…and lost her afterwards.”

Eve groaned. “Yes.”

Carolyn sniffed, and said, casually: “Well, perhaps it is for the best. She was too dangerous to keep alive, anyway.”

Eve closed her eyes and sat down on the couch. Through the fumes of the champagne, she could vaguely smell Villanelle – something sharp, spicy and intensely classy…

“However, the fact that she is gone is worrisome. If she lives, she is vulnerable, and exploitable by parties that we might not be on friendly terms with.”

She opened her eyes again. The leather of the couch creaked when she sat upright.

“Ma’m?”

“It would seem, Eve, that you have a job again. Unofficially speaking, of course.”

….

The office room was poorly heated and smelled like Thai cuisine, but it could have been so much worse.

They had installed quickly – Kenny still had all his computers packed from the previous trip to London and Elena had simply brought their office laptops. The people working for French intelligence, next door, didn’t bother them much – one guy showed them the room and then quickly got out of their way. She didn’t know if Carolyn asked them to.

One day passed. One long, long day. She barely slept. When she got to the office the next day she felt like her head was a helium balloon attached to a bag of meat and bones.

“I think they’re embarrassed, actually.”

“Embarrassed?” It was Kenny who asked the question. He’d been very quiet, quieter than usual.

“Yeah, I mean, of course.” Elena wiggled a pen between her fingers. “I mean, Villanelle lived in Paris, right under their nose, and they didn’t even have a _clue_.” She huffed. “The poor bastards. Must be embarrassed right out of their minds, them. I would.”

“Well, we’re not really having her either, have we?”

“Woah.” The pen halted and Elena looked up at Kenny, one eyebrow raised. “What’s eating _you_?”

Kenny shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a couple of long days, and… a lot of information to process. It’s… Shit. I just wished we caught her.” He sounded bitter.

“And we _will_.” Eve got up from behind her laptop. Her heart was racing. “We got a lead.”

She almost missed it – a little notification from the emergency line, a phone call that came in early that morning. A woman was worried about her husband, who hadn’t come home after work. The agent on the line had stuck to protocol – there was nothing they could do, not until he was missing for more than 48 hours. What caught Eve’s eye, though, was the man’s occupation.

“This man is missing,” she said. “And he’s a _vet_.”

Elena and Kenny’s eyes grew wide.

....

The clinic was located within a 5 minute walk radius from Villanelle’s apartment. That meant that it was a high-end clinic – on their website, which had an annoying high-pitched version of the Nutcracker playing on loop without any option to turn it off, they offered all kinds of treatments for your beloved pet, including braces and chemo therapy. They made no mention of any prices.

The building was tall and elegant, and when Eve and Elena arrived, they both looked up quietly.

“This definitely fits her style,” Eve muttered. Elena eyed her sideways.

The two police officers that accompanied them rang the doorbell once, twice. When no one answered, they took out a battering ram and started beating down the door when they were interrupted by a woman who turned out to be the clinic’s receptionist. She was dressed in pink, from head to toe, and Eve immediately disliked her, but she had a key, and when the police had told her why they were there she grew very quiet and a little white in her face and she let them in quickly.

Inside, they went up a spiraling staircase until they reached the clinic’s front desk. The woman turned on the lights and revealed – hideous, absolutely distasteful – posters of people’s pets, most of them dressed up one way or another. The floor, walls, and furniture were pastel pink. Elena gagged.

“He stays at the clinic sometimes,” she explained as they walked up to the desk. A picture of a bald man holding a Chihuahua with particularly bulgy eyes hung on the wall behind it, with a certificate of some sorts next to it. “There is a lot of work to do, usually. He will probably be in his office.” She cleared her throat. “Jacques? Are you in?”

When no one answered, the officers shared a look with Eve and Elena. Then they opened the office.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. Perhaps that he’d been tied to a chair, scared to death but only in the metaphorical sense of the word. Perhaps that he’d been beaten unconscious and had only just woken up. But as soon as the door swung open, the metallic smell of blood fumed at them, and they found poor Jacques on the floor, his eyes open at the ceiling and a horrible, gashed wound in his neck.

“Straight to the jugular,” Eve whispered under her breath as they stepped in. Behind her, she could hear how the receptionist started screaming, and how Elena and one of the officers tried to calm her down, but in front of her, her vision narrowed and she aimed to see every detail, every hint. He was laying behind his office chair wearing some sort of surgery gown, and his phone was on his desk, screen cracked. The blood was everywhere – on the desk, the chair, the floor and the walls. There were even some splatters on the ceiling. Jugular indeed.

“Ma’m?”

Eve looked up. One of the officers beckoned her from a door in the back of the office, which lead to a small operation room. The tiles were that shade of pastel green that made the room resemble a fashion set rather than an actual OR, and in the middle of the room there was a large, bloodied metal table. Next to the table stood a tray with obviously used surgical equipment and a big tripod supporting surgery lights, and on the floor they found an almost empty bag of sodium chloride solution, attached to a drip. Eve’s eyes went up, and she spotted the camera exactly there where she hoped it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading
> 
> I'm by no means a medical expert so. Yeah. It is fiction people!!!  
> Also who's with me on Cunning Cunt Carolyn???


	4. Cheap and Crappy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because I can't sleep, I figured, might as well upload this one as well.
> 
> Chapter track(s) (yes, TWO):
> 
> [Ava Max - Sweet but Psycho](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQec7eZ7P6o)  
> [The Beatles - Yellow Submarine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2uTFF_3MaA)  
> (Watch out with that last one. Extremely catchy.)

The footage had been horrendous to watch. Absolutely horrible, and overwhelmingly exciting.

Eve heard Kenny and Elena gasp when they first saw Villanelle – clutching at her stomach, the blood clearly visible through the black and white display, and Eve would have rather turned herself inside out than continue watching. The mute footage displayed how Villanelle threatened the man – weakly, Eve saw, but effectively – and the surgery… “You can skip this bit,” Elena said, and Eve wasn’t sure if she meant her or Kenny, but Kenny bent over the controls and fast forwarded it and Eve was immensely grateful that there was no sound either.

They watched how Jacques left Villanelle on the table, how he stumbled towards his office, barely took the time to take his gloves off, took up his phone and realized that it was out of battery. They saw him dig through his desk drawers, they saw him find a charger and plug the phone in. “I bet he wished he still had a landline,” Kenny muttered. They saw the excitement in Jacques’ movements when the phone turned on, they saw his trembling hands unlock it and dial the emergency number, and on that exact moment Villanelle stirred on the bed.

Eve couldn’t help it. She stared at Villanelle’s figure, thinking about how she must have some sort of sixth sense to wake up exactly when needed, thinking about the inhuman efforts she must’ve gone through to even get to the clinic. She watched her get up from the table, obviously in pain, she watched her drag herself to the door to the office, and she saw by the way that Villanelle shifted her weight from one foot to the other that she must’ve rolled her eyes.

Jacques didn’t even raise a finger. He was a lamb led to slaughter.

“Christ.” Elena and Kenny both turned a little pale, and Eve realized that this was the first time they’d seen Villanelle kill someone up close, so gruesomely and bloody, and suddenly she didn’t see Jacques but Bill, and she wanted to cry.

….

She was laying on a bed. Villanelle was there, next to her, laying on her side, looking at her with that same wide gaze she always seemed to have. “Would you stay for a bit?” Her voice was soft, delicate, a little bit broken. Like her face. Like Eve’s heart, which stubbornly pounded.

“Sure.” She heard the word come out of her mouth, and as she turned on her side her right hand slid into her pocket and found the knife. Her palm was sweaty. She thought she was going to be sick, but felt intensely calm at the same time. When Villanelle reached out and touched her face, her heartbeat sped up, and her grip on the handle tightened, and she said “I’ve never done anything like this before,” and her stomach turned, and Villanelle’s fingers on her cheek were so careful.

“It’s okay,” Villanelle said, and she licked her lips, and worked herself up towards Eve, “I know what I’m doing.” And she bent over, and the knife didn’t move, and then Villanelle’s mouth was on Eve’s, and she kissed her softly, so much more delicate than Eve had thought, and her lips parted, and she tasted her, and then there was a hand on her shoulder and she jolted upright in the passenger’s seat of their shitty loan car in a rainy Paris.

“Listen! Listen, this is totally our jam!” 

Elena, who was sitting in the back, leaned over to the console and turned up the volume, and through a haze of trying to get back in the car and away from the bed she was laying in moments before, Eve could vaguely hear a woman sing _“…poison but tasty, yeah, people say ‘run, don’t walk away’, ‘cause she’s sweet but a psycho, a little bit psycho, at night she’s screamin’…”_

“Oh, fuck _off_ , you dicks.”

Elena laughed, Kenny snickered.

_“…see, someone said, ‘don’t drink her potions…”_

They were both positively bobbing along to the music now. Eve grunted, pushed her hands into her face, hoping that it would help to shove out the imagination of her kissing Villanelle.

_“…she’ll kiss your neck with no emotion…”_

Villanelle’s lips, on her jawline, her neck, her collarbone.

_“…when she’s mean, you know you love it…”_

Her hand behind Eve’s head, going through her hair, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, her tongue…

_“…she tastes so sweet, don’t sugar-“_

Eve hit the power button so hard that she could’ve broken the whole, shitty radio. Kenny sat upright almost immediately, and Elena put up her hands awkwardly. The remainder of the drive back to their hotel was quiet.

….

She was in bed when there was a knock on her hotel door. It was an ungodly hour, three or four in the morning, and the only reason she was still awake was the fact that she couldn’t get the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” out of her head.

She groaned. Maybe, if she laid very still, the person outside realized they made a mistake, that they were drunk and at the wrong room, that they weren’t there for her. Maybe- no. Shit.

With inhuman effort she managed to get vertical. “Comin’,” she grunted as there was another knock, her voice raspy with would-be-sleep as she threw the hotel’s cheap and crappy bathrobe over her shoulders. The fabric was coarse and thin and served more as a way to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her shirt than as something to actually wear.

She opened the door.

“Kenny, I swear to god, next time you find something in the dead of night, just _leave me a voicemail_.”

“You’ll want to see this.”

He barged into the room ignoring her complaints, laptop cradled in his arms, and he said “no one leaves voicemails anymore, Eve,” and he put the laptop down in front of the shitty television. “Here, look.” He pointed at the screen, broadcasting black and white CCTV footage of a place that Eve didn’t recognize in the least. Then again, her brain continuously reset to _we all live in a yellow submarine_ , so. Yeah.

“Kenny, please-“ she rubbed her face with both hands. “Can you just tell me what I’m looking at? It’s too early for a quiz.”

“It’s footage from the area around the clinic,” he said. “I managed to hack into almost all security cameras there, you’d be surprised at the efforts people go through to secure their property only to leave the digital backdoor unlocked and frankly wide open…”

Eve gestured at him to skip to the good bit.

“Ah, okay, so, I thought that none of them actually captured something, until…” he bent over the laptop and pressed the space bar. On the screen, the image stilled and suddenly Eve saw what he meant. A figure, hidden in the shadows of the streets and almost invisible. “I think that’s her,” Kenny said breathlessly. Eve felt her heart pick up the pace. She walked up to him and put her face as close to the screen as the image allowed.

“Play it again.”

The figure moved, it was hard to tell if the person was tall or short, let alone what kind of clothes they were wearing and how they were walking exactly. But it moved to a front door, spent some time in front of it and bent over slightly, and then disappeared inside.

“I have the address right here,” Kenny said. “We should go.”

“Wait, wait.” Eve held up a hand and paused the video. She turned to Kenny, who looked more dead than alive at this point, and continued: “We don’t know if it’s her. I want it to be her as much as you do...” He raised his eyebrows. She continued, ignoring it. “…but this is hardly any evidence, except that it is a figure moving down a street in an area where Villanelle _could_ have been.”

“Ah,” Kenny planted his hand against his face. “Shit, of course, no, wait, I forgot to show you- I am confident it’s her, you see, because I followed her all the way out of the clinic to here. I just, I mean, I forgot to make a summary of that footage, I got a little excited…”

Eve’s jaw dropped.

“Get your coat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Would a picture of Villanelle on your fridge count as a good New Year's motivation, or is it disturbing? Asking for a friend.


	5. Slightly Improbable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track:  
> [Angèle - Je Veux Tes Yeux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0KrWq0i1QI)  
> You can read translations to this great song [HERE](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/je-veux-tes-yeux-i-want-your-eyes.html), and you'll want to. Believe me. It fits.

The phone call came early, maybe it was not even six yet. Oskana laid very still as she put her cell to her ear. “No.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes flew open. “Konstanti- ahhhhh, _fuuuuuck!_ ”

Sitting up does not work well with getting stabbed. It does not.

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry I’m not dead.” She could hear that he tried to sound like his casual, blasé self, but his voice was weak and trembled a bit at the edges. She took a few short breaths to help ease the pain away before she answered, composed.

“How did you even get my number?”

He ignored the question. “You don’t sound too disappointed to hear from me.”

“Why would I be?” her voice was bright. “I shot you very poorly. It would look quite bad on my resume, to be honest, and who would hire me then? At least now I have a chance to kill you properly and keep up my good name.”

He laughed and then grunted with pain. Oksana smiled widely. It was good to hear his voice, she liked his voice. Then she frowned. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because I need to tell you something.”

Oksana waited. It remained quiet. “Yes?”

“That woman… that Polastri woman. She’s on her way to you. You should get moving.”

….

Again, there had been conflict. _Again_. She wanted to stay, she wanted to stay so bad, look Eve in the eye as she drove the knife through her ribs, and she would be able to see the light go away from her eyes as her soul crept back into her skull until it completely disappeared. The thought itself sent shivers through her agitated body. But she needed to go.

The couple living in this flat had quite decent taste, but the woman was way too small for Villanelle to fit into her clothing, and so she’d put on a tracksuit from the man, left her own bloody clothes where she took them off and made her way out of the door with the hood over her head. Two days was not enough to recover, it was not – every step hurt and the stitches pulled at her skin.

Her brain worked overtime. How did Eve find her? _Shit_ , she was amazing. Oskana hated her, but not really. She had been so careful not to leave traces – of course, the dead man was kind of a free giveaway, but he had been a _vet_ , and it had been such a sloppy kill that Oksana didn’t even think it was hers, so why would anyone else? Why would Eve even _consider_ the possibility of it being hers? She snorted. So much for Eve being her biggest fan. But, okay, Eve got the guy. That did not explain how she managed to find Oksana here. Paris barely had any CCTV that she knew of, and she knew this city very well. A heartbeat later she understood, and whistled softly. Private security cameras. No way. Eve, a hacker? Slightly improbable, but… hot.

No, she must have had help, and that sucked. No more one-on-one time, then. There would be some awkward third wheels to take care of.

At the end of the corridor, just before going down the stairs to the main exit, she considered her options. Going out through the front door would expose her and she didn’t know if they were still monitoring the cameras. Fucking paranoid rich people, screwing things up for her with their horribly indecent digital security. She turned around a couple of times, oriented herself, and then put her ear to several of the doors on the other side of the hall. She stopped at the quietest and picked the lock, slid inside silently, and at the moment that she closed the door she heard the main one downstairs open.

Her heartbeat sped up. She crept up to the spyhole and peered into the hallway, body drumming with excitement so much that she even forgot about the pain for a moment, because there she was: Eve Polastri, and another guy with really nice clothes and a good haircut. She licked her lips and then clenched them together as she watched them stand still at the start of the hallway and discuss something, too quiet for her to hear. Then they split up, and the guy went to a door out of her sight, and Eve turned around and walked up to a door on Oksana’s side of the corridor, and _rang the doorbell_.

Oksana’s head fell against the door with a soft thud. _Seriously???_

Then she heard a floorboard creak. She spun around, winced at the pain in her abdomen, and saw a little girl standing in the hall, wearing pajamas and looking sleepy. Oksana covered her surprise with a look of easy comfort, a slight smile, took the hood off and bent through her knees, ignoring the protesting stitches. “Shhh,” she said, putting a finger to her lip, and she inclined her head a little. And, thank god, the girl blinked sleepily, then smiled, and wobbled off to the bathroom.

As soon as she was out of sight, Oksana’s face dropped and she got up, walked quietly to the living room. She knocked over a few family portraits, nothing much, and okay maybe one vase that looked expensive, then spotted a window that could open, and climbed out.

….

Of course it rained. Of course. She was hungry, and cold, and stole an umbrella from a couple that wasn’t paying attention, but they kind of had it coming for sitting outside for coffee in this kind of shit weather. Posers.

She had money left, but it wouldn’t sustain her for more than two, three days, and there was no good in going back to her own place because Eve would have taken all the money and cards with her.

The thought of Eve in her apartment made her both angry and a little bit hot, and then angry again. She was tired, she was hurting, and she still hadn’t had that bath that she wanted to take, and with these stitches in her stomach, she shouldn’t take a bath either or risk infection. She swore.  

The fastest route to the central station would have been a straight forward, short walk. Instead, she took a detour and hopped onto the subway several times without paying, almost as if she hoped she’d get caught. No, fuck that, she was hoping to get caught, longing for a reason to be angry with someone else but Eve. But it was rush hour and no one paid her any attention, although some ladies waiting for the tube gave her dirty looks when she spat on the floor. She had no idea why and flicked them off, then dropped her phone in a bin before getting on the train.

She made one stop, at the bank.

The teller looked at her suspiciously as she came up to the desk – god, she hated waiting for her number and she was agitated – and when she told him the box number and showed him the passport he hesitated. “What?” She widened her eyes, raised her eyebrows, waved the passport in his face again. “You cannot read?”

“Ehm, yes, yes I can, I just…” he eyed her.

Oksana closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then put the most charming smile she could muster on her face. “I need the contents of this box, _please_.”

He hesitated again, and she was about to grab him by his ugly collar and yank him over the counter and speed him up another way, but then he nodded. “Of course. This way, please.” She followed him into the deposit area and had to suppress all urges to plunge the knife – _the knife_ , still – in his right kidney.

After that tiring encounter, she made her way to the station and booked a one-way train ticket to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always write Oksana thinking: what would an asshole cat do?  
> You know, one of those scumbags that looks cute but is evil. And cute.  
> Anyhow. Thanks for reading!!


	6. Beating Around the Bush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No update yesterday - I was moving into my new place, had no muscles left to type and no WiFi (updated Maslow's hierarchy of needs, anyone?).  
> But here we go!! Chapter six!!  
> Chapter track: [Mitski - Nobody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qooWnw5rEcI)

They were halfway to the car when Eve realized that her phone was ringing. “Shit, Kenny, hold up,” she fumbled the bag and the car keys and then she had the phone, the phone to her head, and said “hello?!” Because who the fuck calls at 4:50 in the morning?

“Eve Polastri?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, phone between her shoulder and her ear, both hands out in front of her, a bag in one and the keys in the other. “Who is this?” 

Kenny was already at the car, gesturing for the keys, and Eve nodded at him impatiently, turned away from him, tried to focus on the voice on the other side of the line. It sounded familiar.

“It’s Konstantin.”

“Eve, the _keys_ …”

She turned back to Kenny and cut him off with one raised finger, the keys dangling, looking incredulous, and mouthed “shut up!”, then out loud “Konstantin?!” and Kenny’s eyes grew wide.

He strut up to Eve, who gave him the keys almost automatically and then took the phone with her free hand, tilted it towards Kenny so he could listen in. “Yes, yes, the good old me,” Konstantin said through the phone.

“Do you- Jesus, do you have any idea what time it is??” 

Kenny nodded at her. 

“I could ask you the same,” Konstantin retorted, and Eve bit her lip, and looked at Kenny, and he also didn’t know. 

“Yeah, um, I had a, uh, song stuck in my head,” she said. Konstantin made a sound on the other end of the line that sounded as if he sympathized. “It was this, I don’t know if you know… well… whatever, the song is not important, what- what were you calling me for?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “In person.”

“O-okay,” Eve looked at Kenny again, and he pursed his lips, and they both knew that they couldn’t not go. “You mean, now? Or, later?” 

Kenny mouthed “split up?”

Eve shook her head. She wanted to go alone, but she also didn’t want to go alone. She should be smart, she thought. This time she should be smart.

“I mean now.” Konstantin sounded sober. “I’m not sure I’ll live until daylight.”

Eve nodded at Kenny, who went ahead to the car. “Tell me where you are, I’m on my way.”

She got into the car, Kenny was awaiting orders.  It was quiet on the other end of the line.

“Konstantin?”

“...Are you still in Moscow?”

Eve’s head hit the dashboard with a thud.

….

It took a call or two and a couple of texts from Kenny filled with instructions, but in the end they managed to get a more or less secure video call going between them and Konstantin, back in the Thai office. Moments before the connection came live, Kenny eyed Eve, and when she looked back at him he asked “shouldn’t we have Elena here as well?”

“No,” she answered resolutely. “He knows us, adding an unknown person would be ve- Konstantin! Oh my god.”

She didn’t mean to include that last part, and Konstantin smiled sourly. He looked ashen, there were tubes coming out of his nose, and his eyes were set deeply in his face. People in hospitals usually don’t look good, but he managed to pull off another level of misery. 

“They told me I was lucky,” he said, and then, maybe because of the bizarreness of the whole situation, he started laughing, and Eve cracked, and then Kenny too, because why not? Konstantin’s laugh abruptly turned into a coughing fit and he looked pained. His voice was serious when he said: “But we all know that’s bullshit, I didn’t get lucky. She doesn’t miss by accident.”

“The second shot missed because of your daughter, though,” Eve reminded him, and there was a faint grin back on Konstantin’s face. Kenny was quiet and just listened. 

“Anyway, I’m alive, and I take it not for long. Villanelle will probably soon hear that I am alive, no doubt. I mean,” he huffed, “even you knew.”

Eve looked at Kenny, then back at Konstantin. “... we didn’t. We didn’t know ,” she said eventually, deciding to be honest, at least for the time being. God. She’d be such a bad spy. “Actually I… we thought you didn’t make it. Carolyn… she got a call…”

The look on Konstantin’s face hardened. “She did, eh?”

Eve nodded slowly. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she asked: “Why would she lie?”

Konstantin sighed. “I’d like to say that I’m not sure that  _she_ lied per se, that maybe there was someone else along the line who passed on wrong information.”

Next to her, Eve saw how Kenny swallowed.

“But, ah, you know,” Konstantin rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve been in this intriguing mess of a service for long enough to know when people are trying to fuck me over, and it’s definitely happening to me right now. Someone wants me dead, and if that order ended up at Villanelle’s, that means I have a death sentence hanging over me, no matter how I look at it.”

He didn’t even flinch saying it, as if talking about his death was something he did on the regular, and Eve suddenly realized that he probably did. 

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d live this long.” Konstantin started laughing again, and god, Eve couldn’t help it, his laugh was so contagious, she laughed with him, rather nervously, leaving only Kenny awkwardly quiet. “No, but, honestly. It’s sobering to lie in a bed for two whole days, expecting every minute to be your absolute last.”

“Konstantin…” It was the first time Kenny said anything. “You said you wanted to tell us something.”

Thank god for Kenny keeping his head on his shoulders.

“Yes, yes I did.” Konstantin cleared his throat. “The thing is, I don’t know whose order ended up at the Twelve. And there are, no doubt, countless people who want me dead, but I know of at least of one person who actually asked someone to end me.”

“Uh, okay,” Eve blinked. “And how is that information relevant to us?”

“Because it’s Carolyn.”

Eve’s jaw dropped. Kenny swallowed again, hard.

“Woah,” Eve scrambled her mind together. “You’re- you’re not beating around the bush, are you?”

Konstantin grimaced. “Don’t remind me. It goes against everything I’ve ever learned to give information away for free, but fuck me, I’m going to die soon and I can’t go without knowing that she’ll face the consequences of screwing me over. I owe that much to my wife and my daughter.” And his voice wobbled, just a little, at the last words. 

“Jesus…” Eve leaned back against her seat, and Kenny buried his face in his hands. Konstantin grunted, blinked away tears that Eve and Kenny pretended to not see. 

“Tell me about it.”

This put things in perspective. This is why Carolyn said that she was ‘afraid so’: not that Konstantin had died, but that he’d survived. She wanted him dead.  _Carolyn_ . Suddenly, Eve felt an immense doubt creep into the folds of her brain, like icy spiders over her shoulders and neck into her ears, and she remembered the continuous feeling of never knowing for sure if it was Carolyn or some mask you were talking to, the chaos in her hotel room despite her always orderly appearance, the sudden rage that manifested itself when it came to her son…

“Eve.” It was Kenny. He looked at her intensely. “You should tell him.”

For a moment, Eve had no idea what he was talking about. He raised his brows a little, inclined his head towards the screen. “About… You know…” and out of the camera’s sight, he made a stabbing motion under the table, and Eve felt like she’d rather turn into  under cooked pudding and slide off the chair  than tell him .

“Tell me.. what?” Konstantin leaned into the screen, looking confused. “Am I- is it, is it the connection?”

“No, no it’s not.” Eve put the tips of her fingers together, rested her chin on them, took a very deep breath and looked straight at him. “Konstantin, I stabbed Villanelle.”

….

It made sense, of course, that Konstantin hadn’t believed her. Eve barely believed it herself, if not for the dried up blood under her fingernails that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. But when he’d stopped laughing, and neither Eve nor Kenny laughed with him, he suddenly seemed to realize that she wasn’t lying to him, and his eyes grew wide with surprise and, Eve thought, a little bit of admiration, and a little bit of anger.

It wasn’t until they got back to the car that she realized she didn’t even confront him with her knowledge about his regular visits to Villanelle’s flat. That would have to wait.

The car drive to the address where Kenny had spotted Villanelle last was quiet. They both had things to ponder over, Eve thought as she drove them through a sleepy Paris. She tended to forget, at several occasions, that the things Kenny learned about Carolyn must have an added layer of difficulty for him, given that she was his mother. And Kenny couldn’t possibly know how the last couple of days had been for Eve, since no one knew. No one but Villanelle, if she ever learned how to empathize.

As they got closer to their destination, Kenny looked at her. 

“What?” Eve didn’t take her eyes off the road.

“I think you should call Niko,” he said, matter-of-factly. And Eve didn’t respond, because he was right, and probably wiser than she gave him credit for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U ALL FOR READING. THE PLOT THICKENS.  
> Also I like Konstantin a lot. His laugh is so good.  
> Did you see his actor (Kim Bodnia) on The Bridge?


	7. Body Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Donna Missal - Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUVMzEbFM3s)

Normally, she loved train rides.

Then again, _normally_ , she would be wearing something nice. Something beautiful. Simply put, normally she would look nothing short of stunning. She’d have a cup of good coffee, make a Sudoku. Go through the steps she would need to take for her job, mentally visualizing every movement, the schedule, the planning. Enjoy the fact that the first class carriage was usually quiet, and almost empty, and the respect that the train personnel showed to the passengers.

The current journey was _nothing_ like that.

She was cramped in between the window and a bizarrely muscular guy in sweatpants who smelled intensely like cheap aftershave. Her stitches bothered her and her guts felt like she was having the worst period in ages, but her painkillers had run out long ago.

When the conductor arrived at their seats he pulled up his nose. She couldn’t blame him, every time the AC blew a whiff of her neighbor’s odor in her direction she gagged. “Tickets, please.” He had a nice voice, though. Would do good on the radio. When she handed him her ticket, he took an unnecessary long time to check it, eyeing her with a blank expression on his face. Her cheeks hurt of the forced smile on her face. When he finally handed it back to her, she said “thank you!” as cheerful as she could.

He looked angry. “Watch that attitude if you want to stay on the train, young lady."

She put up her hands, brows raised, and watched him walk away. Then the man next to her started snoring. _Honestly_. As if it couldn’t get any worse. He interrupted her steady counting of the seconds, which was a foolproof way to pass time, and made her very annoyed.

She took a glance at her watch to check time. Fifteen more minutes. Fifteen times sixty meant nine hu-

The man spread out his legs, forcing hers even further towards the window and breaking her line of thought. Fuming, she pushed back, and he woke up with a gasp as he almost tumbled out of his chair. He turned to her, an incredulous look on his face. “What the fuck?”

She smiled back at him and shrugged.

He got bright red. She bit her lip - wrong response. Maybe no shrug next time?

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he eyed her up and down, “you psycho bitch!?”

Her mouth fell open. Then, and she couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud, because it had been a long time since someone had called her that, and she always enjoyed how usually those people had no idea how right they were, and the look on this guy’s face was _totally worth it_. Then she smoothed out her own expression, looked back at him and with the deadliest voice she could muster and half a smile on her lips, she asked: “what did you just call me?”

He leaned over towards her. Oksana backed up a little bit, looking disgusted.

“A fucking cunt.” Aftershave. _Everywhere_.

“O-kay.” She nodded. Then she grinned and grabbed him resolutely in the crotch. The fabric of his sweatpants was very soft, she understood why he wore it for traveling. “Hmm,” she said, studying his face, that got even redder as she tightened her grip. “You know, for such a _big_ man,” she leaned in towards his ear, whispered: “…you surely have a _miniature_ dick.”

The next thing she knew, he tried to hit her – tried, of course, it wasn’t hard to dodge, and she grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm. He grunted and then – unfortunate – managed to grab her collar, and she realized this was a fight she would not win, not without a little help of her knife, and that would complicate things. So she started screaming, a high-pitched plea for help, and within the blink of an eye there were a few other travelers who tried to pull Mr. Muscle away from her.

There were many passengers observing the situation now, and while the two men who pulled the man away from Oksana tried to calm him down, someone down the alley shouted “yeah, get ‘em!” and from a corner of an eye Oksana saw people taking out their cellphones.

As much as she wanted to stay and see what happened, she intensely disliked being recorded, and this was starting to become a little bit of a bad idea.

When the conductor came to resolve the conflict, she’d managed to sneak out in the confusion and after she’d gotten onto the bathroom she found out, much to her own satisfaction, that she could still hear what was happening.

The last five minutes of the journey she spent wandering through the train, stealing a bomber jacket from a girl who was sleeping and getting a can of beer and a bag of crisps – crisps! They’d sounded like someone fired a gun in the quiet wagon but this guy, honestly, she could have killed the girl sleeping on his shoulder and he wouldn’t have noticed – out of someone’s open backpack. She decided that second class train rides, in the end, weren’t half bad, and she made some mental notations to help her to have fun next time she ever had to do this again. Which was, hopefully, never.

As the train rolled into St Pancreas station, she lingered near one of the wagon doors just long enough to see the conductor who’d stepped in together with Mr. Muscle approach the same doors. She stared at them intensely until they looked up – this weird tendency that people seem to have, to look at you when you look at them. Very curious. When they made eye contact she smiled, and as soon as the man recognized her and opened his mouth to, well, probably scream or something, the doors slid open with a hiss and she jumped outside and disappeared into the crowd on the platform.

….

She bought some heavy ibuprofen and aspirin at the station’s drug store and got a new phone from one of those corner shops. Then she wandered around London to find a decent but not too high-end hotel, checked into the room and took a long, hot shower. She looked at the stitches once, just before getting into the shower, because that was what she was trained to do in these kinds of situations, and she studied the handiwork as if the skin wasn’t her own. When she concluded that they were still in place and that the bruises hadn’t expanded, she didn’t look at her body anymore.

Room service came later, and the food was only half decent, but she was hungry and tired and she didn’t leave as much as a smear of sauce on the plate. Then she took some of the medication, drank from the tap – no glasses in cheap hotels – and sank into the bed.

For a very brief moment she considered calling Konstantin, but it had no obvious advantages aside hearing his voice, which she liked, and so she decided against it. Then she slept.

….

She woke up for no reason.

It was the dead of night. Outside she could hear some drunks getting home, and the headlights of a passing car traced over the wall of the room. She sighed heavily. This was all not really going the way she’d hoped.

She reached for the knife under her pillow and held it in her hands for a while, staring at the ceiling, weighing the weapon. It was warm from her body heat, just like it had been when she stabbed Jacques, and just like it had been after Eve stabbed her. Then she put it back, reached out for her phone and typed out a message.

“Sorry baby. X”

She would get a new phone tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapters will be a little bit delayed (read: not tomorrow, maybe the day after), I'm figuring out the plot, FORGIVE ME IT GOT COMPLICATED (and I'm also still moving)


	8. She Deceived Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving's complete you guys! Thanks for the patience and the lovely comments so far.  
> Here goes nothing :D  
> Chapter track: [Tom Misch - Lost in Paris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBL2m1PNqJM)

When they got back to the Thai office, both Eve and Kenny were tired to the bone. 

They had been too late.

The flat where they found Villanelle’s bloodied clothing had its door ajar, Kenny spotted it after they’d woken up three angry residents. The bed was still warm when they got in. 

She was mocking them, Eve realized, bitterly. 

They sat down at their desks, defeated. 

“I could look at the footage again,” Kenny offered. Eve sighed, then waved it away.

“Even if we see her again – I’m too tired to sit, let alone chase after her. You need to sleep. As do I.”

He grunted, his face in his hands. “Yeah.”

The door swung open and Elena got into the office, a cup of hot coffee in her hand, stopping dead in her tracks as she saw the two of them sitting there. “Woah.” She put down her bag and the cup, took off her coat. “What did I miss?”

….

“So the bird has flown.” Carolyn sounded like her usual, composed self. 

“Yes.”

After they’d gotten Elena up to speed and contacted Carolyn to report, they headed back to London. Not because they necessarily wanted to, but Carolyn had been unforgiving and her rhetoric sound: if Villanelle was mobile, and she was, she would no longer be in Paris. There was no reason to stay.

Eve slept on the plane, probably, because when they landed Kenny had to wake her up. Now, they were sitting in their own dodgy gray London office, and she felt emptier than she’d had in years.

“Unfortunate.”

Eve bit her lip. “…Yes.”

Carolyn sighed, and then sat down at their desk. Eve had to suppress the urge to back away from her. 

“I have not been entirely honest with you, Eve. Elena.” Suddenly, she looked much older. “I visited Villanelle in prison, in Russia, after I instructed you to leave. I asked her to murder Konstantin.”

The silence in the office was almost palpable. 

“I’m not proud of keeping it quiet,” Carolyn continued. “And especially not for involving you, Kenny.”

Both Eve and Elena started. “ _What?!_ ”

Kenny stared at his lap intensely. “I found a note,” he said to his folded hands. “In the Russian prison. It was from Nadia, and addressed to you, Eve.” Now he looked up at her. “She wrote Konstantin’s name, and a twelve behind it. I… I wanted to tell you, really, but…”

“But I interfered.” Carolyn took over again. “In the plane to London, to be precise. You see, I considered Konstantin’s role to be rather limited, I thought him to be more of a Russian puppet than anything else.” She paused a moment, seemed to overthink her next words. “But after Frank died, and the way that he suddenly popped up at that meeting with Vlad, I…” Her voice trailed off, and she stared in the distance before continuing abruptly. “But, as it turns out, I made a mistake.” The way she said it made it sound as if she just discovered that she accidentally put the left glove on her right hand. “Knowing that he is actually linked to the Twelve put a whole new spin on matters, and, I’ll be honest, I was embarrassed.”

Eve leaned back in her chair, breathing heavily. “You were  _embarrassed_ ,” she said. 

“Well, yes.” Carolyn’s expression was as blank as ever. “It happens.”

Eve imagined her hands around that skinny, crooked neck. She would see the expression on Carolyn’s face as she clawed at Eve’s fingers, as she slowly turned blue. Eve gasped at the adrenaline that rushed through her as she imagined feeling the power drain from the other’s body. She swallowed hard, pushed the image away, and then managed to hiss through clenched teeth: “Good to know that your  _embarrassment_ is more important than someone’s  _life_ , then.”

Next to her, Elena threw her a warning glance. Kenny went entirely rigid, and Carolyn… Carolyn didn’t move a muscle, just eyed her. “I understand that you’re upset,” she said eventually. “But you were losing sight of what was important, Eve. Villanelle truly  _only_ matters to us as long as she is a link to The Twelve, and I believed that I had secured that information by offering her a deal: to kill Konstantin, and in exchange get a way out of the prison, and out of The Twelve’s schemes.” She paused for a moment, narrowed her eyes a little. “I see now that she deceived me.”

Eve’s hands trembled as she clenched them to fists. 

“Regardless, this situation became more involved than I expected,” Carolyn continued. “And you should have received the proper training for these kinds of situations. Sometimes...” now she looked at Eve directly. “Sometimes the work you do is so good that I forget that you are not trained for MI6. I hope you accept my apology.”

The mix of reprimand, compliment and apology had Eve momentarily at a loss for words. Elena saved her by clearing her throat.

“Thank you, Mrs. Martens.” 

Carolyn looked at her. “You’re most welcome. Please, call me Carolyn.”

Elena smiled briefly. Then Eve slammed her hands flat on the desk with a bang, startling Kenny and Elena.

“Okay.” Eve licked her lips, then looked up at Carolyn. “Okay, I accept your apology. But if you want to catch The Twelve...” she put a little emphasis on the ‘if’, but Carolyn’s face was hard as steel. “You need to start telling me what you know. I can’t go running after leads that you want to have murdered, I just can’t.”

“That’s reasonable,” Carolyn said, not in the least intimidated, and she made herself comfortable in the chair. “You might want to grab a notepad.”

….

At the end of the day, the wall of their office had been redecorated. The careful layout of evidence from before was extended, and almost all yellowed plaster was hidden behind a minefield of pictures, red wire and pins, the photograph of young Oksana – she couldn’t get herself to call that girl Villanelle, she couldn’t – in the middle, just below a portrait of Konstantin. The wire connected these pictures to the murders, and there were twelve anonymous faces all the way at the top.

Eve, Elena and Kenny stood in front of the wall, all quiet, staring. “It’s almost art, man,” Elena muttered. “This should be in the Museum of London.”

“It will. After we catch them,” Kenny said, gravely. Elena snickered. 

“Totally.”

They both looked at Eve, who could feel their stares. She’d been unusually quiet the whole day, following up on Carolyn’s information, jotting down links between high-ranked officials in the intelligence services of the UK and Russia. But on the inside she was boiling. Losing sight of what was important… She wasn’t. Or was she? She still hadn’t called Niko. Her friends at home hadn’t heard from her in months, she’d been absent at all their dinner parties and birthdays. The question she’d asked Carolyn earlier echoed back at herself:  _if you want to catch The Twelve…_ Did she? Did she  _really_ ?

She remembered Villanelle, saying “you like me too much”, and her insides turned to dust.

“Eve?”

She started. “What?”

“We’re going to get some food. There’s a Chinese at the end of the street.” Elena looked at her, raised one brow. “And, girl, you should join. You look like the last time you ate was in 2018.”

Eve smiled absently, nodded, and followed them meekly, too conflicted to protest.

The food was good and warm, and as they were eating and drinking, the coldness seeped away from her bones. She made some mistakes, admittedly. But she could come clean, she could make it right, if only she focused on the larger picture: sniffing out The Twelve and their evil schemes. Save the world. And after dinner she would go home, to Niko. It had been three days since she last called him, and he hadn’t replied to any of her texts or voicemails. Something needed to happen.

“Guys, I’m going to head out.” Eve took a long sip of her beer, put down the empty glass. “You two just stay, if you want to.”

She caught a glimpse of Kenny eyeing Elena, and then they both said “That’s fine, we’re just… I mean… I think we’ll get...”

Eve waved away their awkward answers, grinning. “Have fun you two.”

It was cold outside, with a nasty wind tugging at her coat. She folded her arms in front of her chest, thought about getting a cab but in the end decided to take a small walk instead – she could use the fresh air to sober up a little. They served some mean beers in that place, she had to remind herself to leave a good review. 

As her feet carried her over the sideways and crossings, her mind went back to the last week. To the fight with Niko, the trip to Moscow, the roller coaster of the prison, the murder of Nadia and the near-murder of Konstantin. To her trashing Villanelle’s apartment, to Villanelle, to Villanelle… Then to Bill, the evening of his murder, eyeing her cheekily from that bed, asking her if she’d ever been interested in women.

She stopped walking, a knot in her stomach. She didn’t know what it was that she felt for Villanelle. She didn’t. She couldn’t give Bill an answer back then and she couldn’t give herself an answer now. But she knew what it felt  _like_ ; it felt like she couldn’t stop thinking about her, and that she didn’t want to stop thinking about her. It felt like everything in her life happened because of Villanelle, that everything revolved around her, and if it didn’t, it should. It felt like she wanted to know every fiber of Villanelle’s being, of her mind, her past, her history. It felt like she wanted to tell her that, despite all of it, despite who she was, she still wanted to… To what? 

To know everything. Not just her past, her present. Also her future. She wanted to be a part of it, whatever it was.

She clutched at her jacket. People were passing her on the pavement and she stepped back a little to allow for more space, realizing she was blocking the way. She’d never felt like this for anyone else. 

Suddenly sick to her stomach, she hauled a cab and drove the remainder of the way. 

Their house looked the same as always as she got out of the car. There were some lights on downstairs, so Niko was probably home, and she hesitated for what seemed an eternity before walking up to the front door and unlocking it. 

It was warm inside, and it smelled like food, and Niko, and her. It smelled like home. She trembled all over her body, opened her mouth to say hello, but couldn’t find her voice. Instead, she walked up to the door to their living room, and when she looked inside she saw Niko, he was in the kitchen, by the fridge, a can of beer in his hand. He saw her. 

“Eve.”

There was no stopping to it. She started crying as soon as she heard his voice, as if it was the last crack in the dam of all her efforts to carry the events of the last few months. “Oh, Niko...”

He ran up towards her, put his arms around her, and she dove deep into the folds of his sweater, into his warmth. “Eve, I’m… I’m so sorry.” She could hear by the tone of his voice that he had been crying, too. She knew him so well it was overwhelming to realize that she understood the meaning of even the slightest pitch of his voice. “I should have answered your calls, your voicemails. I heard them all. I just… I… I didn’t know what to say, I was so scared and I… I...”

“It’s okay,” Eve sobbed, and she wiped her eyes. “I understand. I’ve been an obsessed arsehole. I… I lost the bigger picture. I lost you.” Her voice wobbled. Niko took some shaky breaths. “I want to come home,” she continued, looking up at him from their embrace. “Come home, and try. Try to find you back. If you’d let me.”

He broke down. “Of course,” he cried. “Come back to me, baby. Please.”

….

She hadn’t thought of Villanelle for almost four waking hours. A record.

They’d been bundled together on the couch, shared apologies, and she told him – baring some of the details – what had happened, and what she was determined to do now. He wasn’t happy that she was still working, she could see that, but he must’ve understood that she was serious about the bigger picture. He seemed especially relieved when she told him that the serial killer was no longer the main focus of the investigation, and even though it was the truth, it still felt like a lie. So much for clean starts.

The morning after, when she came downstairs to find that Niko had left for work – Jesus, it was a Tuesday – she let out a deep sigh. Home. 

She turned on the coffee machine, opened the fridge, got some yogurt and cereal from a cupboard, then sat down at their kitchen table and took up her phone. Three e-mails, a missed call from Elena, and one text message. She unlocked the phone and opened the message first, she barely ever received texts. 

Then the phone slipped out of her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the richness of Eve's character, couldn't resist writing about her relationship with Niko.  
> Next chapters are taking things a little further..........................  
> (yes, a cliffhanger after a cliffhanger, sue me)


	9. Notice of Termination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to spice things up a little, folks.  
> Chapter track: [K.Flay - Blood in the Cut](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2WcOdz96ko)

She spent a whole day in London, loafing, pickpocketing and trailing after women with beautiful hair, and being generally bored out of her mind. She couldn’t execute the next part of her plan yet, couldn’t go to Eve’s house yet, she needed to give Eve time to rush back to London after sending that text. After all, she’d killed someone’s husband before – that would be the easy part – but she needed to improve on the timing. Break Eve’s heart like Eve had broken hers the moment she stabbed her.

The morning of the second day in that hotel arrived with increasing noise from traffic and a grayish, sickly sun. Oksana stretched out, winced at her stomach, and then realized that something was wrong. 

In one heartbeat, she rolled off the bed, snatching the knife with her from under the pillow, causing the bullet that was meant for her head to go straight through the soft fabric. Feathers exploded to all sides as she scrambled to her feet and leaped to the foot end of the bed, grabbed the lousy desk chair and heaved it over to the man on the other side, catching the second bullet. She was at the door in two footsteps and then out onto the hallway, ducked when she heard him chase after her, the third and fourth bullet shooting past her head into the dodgy wallpaper.

She swirled around the corner into the staircase and shoved herself behind the door, knife in her hand, breath fast and high in her chest, heart hammering. She heard the man approach. At the moment that he passed through the door she was on him, the knife in his throat through the back of his neck, and she heard a sickening gurgle coming up from him. 

He took her down in his fall, up was down, down up, the stairs hard in her back, her side, her shoulders. There was a struggle but it was short, his blood was running down his arms as he hovered over her, trying to choke her with the last life left in him. He had brown eyes, and as he coughed up blood all over her, she saw the life seep away from them. Then he collapsed on top of her and she screamed once when he hit the stitches, the first sound she made since waking up.

She rolled his body off of her, spat out some of his blood, chest heaving with her breath. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck  _fuck_ .

Trembling with the adrenaline, she worked herself up and went through his pockets, which were empty except for some cash. She took the money and his gun, propped it behind the waistband of her panties. She cursed, in Russian, then staggered to her feet and went back to her hotel room to get her own money and clothes and wash off the most obvious blood, ignoring the horrified looks on the faces of other hotel residents who started coming out of their rooms. By the time someone started screaming she was on her way down again, slipped outside in the commotion and disappeared into the streets of London.

Her feet took her into the tube, and into a public restroom. She used the guy’s cash to get in, and let out a shaky breath when she was in front of the sink, her hands resting on the porcelain. Her reflection in the mirror didn’t surprise her in the least, but it made her intensely angry. Her face looked royally fucked up; bruises from the beating in prison, Konstantin’s log, combined with a lack of thorough sleep and her beauty products, topped up with blood smeared all over the place. She started wiping it off, getting increasingly upset. This whole situation  _sucked_ . One moment she was working, doing her job and doing it well, enjoying her life, and the next moment she was homeless and running from  _other hitmen_ . She scrunched up her nose, scratched out some blood that had dried in her nostrils. How should she interpret this attempt on her life? As a notice of termination? The end of her employment?

She sniffed. Anyway, whatever the reason may be, they caught her unaware. That wouldn’t happen again, and she wouldn’t make it easy on them. The next one they sent at her would end up the same as that guy, gasping for breath in her arms. The thought sent goosebumps over her skin. 

Her reflection looked back at her, licked her lips. Weighed off her options. 

….

She spent the remainder of the day in the tube, getting on random trains in random directions, making sure she wasn’t followed. Only when she was absolutely sure that there was no one with her did she leave the underground to find that the day had turned into night and she hadn’t eaten a single thing. Starving, she went into a Burger King and devoured a hamburger, a milkshake and two portions of fries, her eyes monitoring her surroundings carefully. When she caught a little boy staring she stuck out her tongue and he ran away crying. 

Outside, she went for a night shop and bought a new phone. Then she dialed Konstantin.

“Why are you calling me?”

She frowned. “How did you know it was me?”

“Who else would want to wish me good recovery?”

“Ahw. Poor you. I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers, I hope you’re not too disappointed.” She moved to a better place on the street, allowing her easy oversight of the people there. He snickered.

“They are sending people to kill me,” she said. “Why are they doing that?”

“You’re asking _me_?” Konstantin laughed. “They sent _you_ to kill _me_ , remember?”

“Yeah, so?” She didn’t get his line of thought. 

Konstantin sighed. “Give me one good reason why I should help you out.”

Oksana rolled her eyes. “Because you like me, duh. And because I didn’t hurt your wife and daughter.”

He hesitated. She sniffed, and added “and because I missed.”

He grunted. “Fair enough. Okay. They sent someone to kill you?”

“ _Yes_ , I just told you.” She was getting impatient. “He tried to shoot me. In my bed.”

“And you’re sure it was _them_ who sent him?”

She frowned, her eyes following a man on the other side of the street who walked suspiciously. “Who else would want me dead?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been around killing quite a few people, I imagine there are more individuals who’re not exactly… How do they say it in English.” Konstantin sought for the words. “...fond of you.” 

“Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “I was just doing my job.”

“That’s the way it is, Villanelle.”

She didn’t like it. “I don’t like it.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. Then they spent a few moments in silence. Oksana heard someone in the shop behind her laugh loudly. “Maybe it is because of me.”

“You?” She turned away from the shop. “Why?”

“Because I’m still alive.”

She stopped for a moment. He was very quiet. “So...” she thought out loud. “If I kill you, I mean, if I kill you for real, then this will stop?”

“I…” he hesitated again, took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

She pulled up her nose. Moscow was far away, and in Russia. Was it worth going there for a maybe?

“I can hear you thinking, Villanelle. It’s not worth it.”

She sniffed. “Okay. I know what to do now. Thank you for your time, Konstantin.”

“What? Are you-” She hung up, pulled out the sim card and threw the phone in the bin outside. Then she went into the shop and bought another one, flashing the girl behind the counter her kindest smile. 

….

Eve’s house was far away from the center and it was very troublesome to get there with public transport. By the time she walked up to the street she was extremely irritated and almost missed the surveillance car parked opposite of the house. She resisted the urge to jump into the bushes and instead kept her walk as leisurely as possible, putting a little swag to her step, fitting into the tracksuit better. 

The agents in the car looked at her once, then continued their surveillance of Eve’s house. She cursed inwardly. The text. Eve being paranoid – okay, justifiably, but still. Perhaps she should’ve sent something else, instead of apologizing for something she was yet to do. 

She kept walking until she reached the end of the street, and when she was sure that she was out of the agents’ sights she picked up her pace. She could call Eve, maybe. Get her to come outside the house. But she wasn’t sure if that was a smart thing to do, she still felt angry with Eve and she really didn’t want to see her. Alternatively, there was that boring woman, and Oksana knew where she lived, but it was somewhere in the back of her mind and-

She collided frontally with another person on the sidewalk and she staggered backward, a little confused by the sudden impact. Her stitches complained. As she regained her posture and looked up she saw it was Eve. Eve, holding a plastic bag with wine bottles in one hand and her phone in the other. Eve, staring at her. 

Eve, dropping the bag. The glass broke. 

“Oksana.” She almost breathed her name. 

And Oksana couldn’t move, she felt her whole body going rigid except for her face, which broadcasted the wide range of emotions that washed through her directly. Then anger won, and Eve went pale, put up her hands, took a step back, started saying “Oksa-”

She grabbed Eve’s collar, her heartbeat racing, mouth dry, and put the knife against Eve’s throat. Her eyes went from Eve’s to the knife, to Eve’s, to her lips, to Eve’s eyes again. Her breath was heavy. 

What was she waiting for? What on  _earth_ was she waiting for?

Eve closed her eyes. She was trembling so bad that Oksana could feel it through the collar. 

“I’m sorry.” Eve’s voice was grave, and when she opened her eyes again there were tears in them. Oksana felt her insides turn into hot fire and then melt out of her body through her toes. 

“ _Sorry_?” She hissed the word. The knife moved, cut skin and drew blood. Eve winced. 

In a sudden flash of clarity Oksana took in their surroundings, aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the street. There was an alley behind a line of houses to their right, and she gestured for Eve to move in that direction. 

She should kill her. Right now.  _Right now_ .

But as Eve walked out in front of her, and she visualized how she would slit her throat like the guy from that morning, she found that she couldn’t. 

“You _stabbed_ me,” she spat instead when they were off the street. She had Eve pinned against the bricks of someone’s shed, and the safety of a thick shrubbery behind her, but she had no idea what she was doing. She hadn’t taken the time to prepare for this scenario yet, she hadn’t thought about what she wanted to say. It was unforgivable that Eve stabbed her. Konstantin’s betrayal with that log had been sort of understandable, at least, considering that she was in his house to kill him and had kidnapped his wife and daughter. But she’d been so nice to Eve. She’d been about to _kiss_ her.

She looked at Eve. There was almost no light, but the little that reached this part of the alley reflected in Eve’s teary eyes and on her teeth and lips. 

“Yes.” Eve’s face was trembling now, too. 

Oksana looked at her incredulously. “I thought you liked me.” She didn’t mean for it to come out like that, she didn’t mean to say it at all. Fuck.

Eve closed her eyes again. 

“If you have nothing to say, I will kill you now.” Oksana made her voice cold. 

When Eve opened her eyes, she’d stopped trembling. That was not good.

“You won’t,” she said, almost calmly. 

Oksana’s brows went up. She was the one with the knife here, but strangely enough she didn’t feel as if she had the upper hand – Eve was slipping away form her. She clenched her teeth together, and then managed to regain composure. “Give me one good reason,” she said, echoing Konstantin. 

Eve looked at her quietly. “Because you like me too much.”

The street opened below Oksana’s feet and swallowed her whole. 

She huffed, in a last, desperate attempt to stick to her senses. “ _Liked_ . Past tense.”

Then she realized that Eve put up a hand, and touched Oksana’s cheek, brushing some of her hair behind an ear. Her breath hitched in her throat. 

Stabbing was unforgivable.  _Absolutely unforgivable_ . 

“I’m so, _so_ sorry. I...” Eve’s voice died away as she looked Oksana in the eyes. “I will never stab you again.”

Empty words, empty promises. She’d heard all of them, all of the I-will-never-hurt-yous and the I-will-protect-yous, and yet Anna had been ready to fire a gun at her. She’d used all of them herself, and yet she’d driven over Nadia without a single moment of hesitation. 

Then, without a warning, she broke. She felt it almost physically – like the knot above her stomach suddenly ruptured and the hot anger drained away through her veins, left her body with every passing of breath. “You really shouldn’t,” she said. Then she stepped away from Eve, her breath labored, the knife still clenched in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white. Eve whimpered. 

“Call your boss,” Oksana said, her voice not as controlled as she wanted it to be. “I need to talk to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!  
> I spent wayyy too much time on that encounter, hope it doesn't show.


	10. Quiet as a Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun with the chapter titles, honestly.
> 
> Chapter track: [Half Alive - Still Feel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOOhPfMbuIQ)

It had been a full 24 hours after the text and still nothing had happened, barring one frantic call from Kenny who had found Villanelle in some viral YouTube video with a guy who went berserk in the Eurostar. She’d phoned Niko immediately, almost screamed at him to come home, to take a day off because of an imminent threat to his persona. And then, as if the agents outside and inside the house weren’t bad enough, it wasn’t really helping either that Niko came home just at the moment that Eve had zoomed in on Villanelle’s face in the video. 

He’d been upset and she hadn’t known what to tell him other than that it was her job, which sounded like a lame excuse because it was – even to herself. They spent a whole night laying in bed silently, and she didn’t know what was worse – the fact that he tried to stay or that he went downstairs around 4 in the morning when she finally succeeded in pretending to sleep. Something had broken between them and with every passing moment she felt less and less confident that it could be glued back together again. 

So when, just after dinner on the second day, she announced that she wanted to go to the supermarket unsupervised, he just shook his head and continued to watch television. She knew better than to go against it, knew better than to say “it’s you that she’s after, not me” because that wouldn’t make anything better. Nothing could.

She bought two bottles of white wine, the cheap stuff that would give her a headache the next morning, paid by card and walked back home, her mind somewhere else, scrolling through her e-mails from work without actually reading them. So when she walked into someone she didn’t even respond that much, didn’t think of something to say, let alone being angry or annoyed. 

But then it was Villanelle. 

“Oksana.” The name escaped her lips as the plastic bag slipped from her fingers. The glass broke with a horrible crack, wine splattered on her shoes.

Then she felt terrified. Villanelle looked… like a predator. Her face was twitching, she was wearing a stained tracksuit, and her face – her eyes were wide, undecided, until they abruptly weren’t. She grabbed Eve by the collar and pressed a blade against her throat and Eve could hear her breathe, labored, shaky. 

The moment that passed was both the longest and the shortest in her entire lifetime. She thought: this is it. This is where I die. Every fiber in her body screamed, she realized this was the fight-flight-freeze moment and that she had frozen completely, that she would be dead before she could even tell Villanelle all the things she’d thought about earlier. 

But then nothing happened, and from the depths of herself she mustered all her courage, opened her mouth and willed out the only thing she could think of, the only thing that made sense.

“I’m sorry.” 

“ _Sorry_?”

It was the first thing Villanelle said and she hissed it, her voice cold and angry. Eve winced when the blade cut skin and she felt a drop of hot blood run down to her collarbone. With a nod of her head, Villanelle directed her into the alley to their left, and she went in front of her, her mind racing to all the different ways that Villanelle could kill her. In the alley behind her house, for fuck’s sake. What a place to go.

In the shadows of the sheds and bushes, the accusation came. “You  _stabbed_ me.”

Eve shook to her core. “Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered a similar occasion, ages ago, in her kitchen. Then it had been a fridge, now it was the back of a shed. Then she had been angry, determined. Now she was scared. Immensely scared. It was a fear like nothing she’d ever felt before, and she realized she was a mouse and Villanelle the cat – and she had no idea if the cat wanted to play with its food.

Villanelle’s face was close to Eve’s, her eyes brimming with something Eve couldn’t grasp.

“I thought you liked me.” 

Oh.  _Oh_ .

Eve closed her eyes, tried to stop her muscles from shaking, tried to regain some of her control. Maybe she didn’t have to die here. Maybe. Her brain worked at top speed. 

“If you have nothing to say,” Villanelle sneered, “I will kill you now.”

“You won’t.” 

On the inside she was falling to pieces, but somewhere in the debris she found a calm and she stuck to it, held onto it for her dear life. She opened her eyes and looked at Villanelle, composed, and saw her swallow, saw a little twitch just below her eye. 

“Give me one good reason.” 

It was an invitation, Eve knew. Whatever she said next would be crucial, would determine whether she would die here or not. Her heartbeat raced, her palms were sweaty, and her throat was so dry that she barely got the words out.

“Because you like me too much.”

It was like going all-in at the casino, she realized with a shock. Like getting all her savings, selling the house, all her clothes and personal belongings, and putting everything on one number.

And it worked.

Villanelle huffed. “ _Liked_ ,” she said, her voice strong but not her own. “Past tense.”

Jackpot. Death VS Eve: 0 – 1. So why… why didn’t she feel relieved?

In fact, as the realization that she didn’t die sank in, she felt like crying more than anything else. She’d seen the struggle, the conflict in Villanelle. How was this woman, this young woman, who could’ve killed her in more ways than Eve could even think of, how was she so disarming? How was everything about her so beautiful, so dangerous, yet so inexplicably sad? How could it be that Eve actually felt guilty, intensely guilty, for betraying her trust when she stabbed her?

Eve raised a hand, surprising both herself and Villanelle. She put it against Villanelle’s cheek, trailing a thumb up over her cheekbone, brushing hair out of her face and behind her ear. Eve’s mouth fell open slightly, she heard Villanelle’s breath hitch. All of this was unreal.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry,” she repeated, and her eyes went from Villanelle’s left to her right. Her own mouth throbbed, she set her lips, said: “I will never stab you again.”

Whatever fight there was behind the facade of Villanelle’s face, Eve knew she had won. She knew because Villanelle said “you really shouldn’t,” and then stepped back, finally removing the knife from Eve’s throat and Eve’s hand from her face. 

The breath she took after that moment felt like she breathed for the first time. Tears were still welling up from the corners of her eyes.

“Call your boss,” Villanelle said. “I need to talk to her.”

Eve frowned, still shaky. Her brain was not functioning yet, the threat of imminent death a little too intense still. “… you mean Carolyn?”

“Yes, yes. The boring woman who looks like she eats lemons for breakfast.” The moment had passed, and Villanelle was back to herself. It gave Eve half a whiplash. “I have some things I want to discuss with her.”

Eve blinked once, twice. “Wha- why?” she asked, sharply. Too sharply. Villanelle’s brows went up and Eve shook her head, put her hands up, continued: “I mean, Carolyn’s not really my boss, she’s- we’re… we don’t really have a hierarchy, so, what do you… what do you need her for, exactly?”

A wicked grin spread out over Villanelle’s face. “You’re  _jealous_ ,” she said, looking as if Eve just spilled some hot gossip about their imaginary shared neighbor. Then she laughed once and winced immediately after, one hand going to her stomach, and continued in the same cheerful tone: “you are! You totally are!”

“That’s-” Eve had trouble following the sudden change in the mood. “That’s _not_ relevant right now.”

Villanelle was still grinning but nodded seriously and regained composure. “If you say so, Eve,” she said gravely. 

“Don’t be a dick.”

“You stabbed me.” And Villanelle put her hands on her hip, daring Eve to say otherwise. 

This was entirely fucked up. How did this even happen? One moment she was ready to be killed in an alley behind a shed – seriously – and now she was chatting with Villanelle as if she was her co-worker whom she happened to have stabbed – treated in exactly the same way as accidentally throwing up over someone’s shoes at a company party and having to hear about it over and over at every occasion.

Eve shook her head. “Let’s- let’s get back to the point – what did you need Carolyn for?”

“How do you mean, _did you need?_ I still need her.”

Eve just looked at her in silence. Villanelle looked right back. “What? I’m dead serious. Ha, dead. Okay, okay. I need to talk to her because I’m being targeted by The Twelve and it’s getting really annoying.”

….

This was a really,  _really_ bad idea. 

“You promise you keep quiet,” Eve said. “I need to talk to him first.”

“Pinky promise,” Villanelle replied briskly. “Quiet as a mouse.”

They walked up past the surveillance car. Villanelle was carrying a new plastic bag with white wine and started a completely bullshit story about “this bloke at work”, gesturing lively, using a midlands accent that Eve couldn’t believe came from the same mouth that said “arsehole” with a thick Russian “r”. Eve wasn’t as good at acting as Villanelle, but she got herself to laugh once – it was so bad that even Villanelle winced. But it did the trick: the agents didn’t get out of their car, probably too comfortable in there to get out in the cold for a girl in a tracksuit. 

Eve realized that they were absolutely useless.

“Just so you know,” Villanelle said in her own accent when they walked up towards Eve’s front door. “I haven’t forgiven you yet, about the, you know. Stabbing incident.”

Eve froze in her tracks, Villanelle bumped into her. “Woah, careful, I’m carrying glass here?”

“If you lay as much as _one finger_ on him,” Eve said, turning to Villanelle, her voice low. “I will kill you.”

“Of _course_ I won’t. Take it easy.” Villanelle actually managed to look hurt, as if it was the most ridiculous warning she’d ever heard. “I’m a quiet mouse now, remember. Not your favorite serial killer.”

“You’re not- oh my god.” Eve turned around on her heels, put her key in the lock, opened the door.

“Niko?” She called out his name and it was all so wrong, so incredibly wrong. Behind her, she heard Villanelle put the plastic bag down and she really hoped that she made the right choice.

He answered with a grunt from the living room. “What? You found her?”

The sarcasm in his voice made her wince. She heard – or maybe she just thought she did – Villanelle click her tongue somewhere behind her and she grit her teeth, took a deep breath. “Eh, well, about that...” She walked into their hallway, looked over her shoulder once, saw Villanelle stand just outside the doorway, looking at her. “...I have.”

She walked up to their living room. Niko was still on the couch, television on, but he’d turned towards the door and was looking at her now. “You  _found_ her? What, on your way to the shop?”

“Ehm, yes. Yes I did.”

His mouth fell open. “That’s- wow, I mean, are you...” he stumbled with the words, got up half from the couch but Eve put up her hands. 

“It’s not- save the congratulations,” she said it almost as sarcastically as him, and in that moment she knew that their marriage was doomed, and she saw that he knew, too. But there was no time to mourn over it, not now. “She was outside our house. I ran into her after coming back from the supermarket.”

It sounded almost normal, almost as if Villanelle was a long-lost friend. She pitied him a little as he tried to process what she was saying. She didn’t give him time to respond. “She’s not going to kill you, or me. Let me put that first. She promised.” She could see that he was putting the pieces together as his brows furrowed, then rose, and then his whole face went pale. 

“Eve...” his voice was low. 

“It’s just for one night.” 

It was quiet. Dead quiet. She fucked this up completely.

“You’re not _really_ telling me that we’re harboring a fugitive serial killer in our house, are you now?”

She bit her lip, was about to tell him all the details, the reasons, the  _good_ reasons, when Villanelle popped her head through the doorway next to her and said, cheerfully: “I have a name, you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK you all again for reading  
> Things are going places from here...  
> also, I love getting comments (hint hint)


	11. Save it for the Psycho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Twenty Øne Pilots – Pet Cheeta](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGMmSOsNAdc)

She’d never seen Niko so pale in her whole life. He stumbled back, almost fell over the couch and grabbed onto it like a lifeline, his fingers digging into the arm rest. He stared at Villanelle, then at Eve. “She’s- she’s making you do this,” he started, his voice all over the place, and he backed further away, towards the landline. “Eve, I’ll call someone, I’ll-”

Villanelle moved and Eve was only just in time to hold her back. “No,” she said, and she gave Villanelle a warning glance, “No, that’s not necessary. I’m- and I swear to God it sounds insane, but I’m doing this out of free will.”

“It was her idea, actually,” Villanelle put in, and Eve could’ve honestly stabbed her again.

Niko started shaking his head, trembling. “It doesn’t just _sound_ insane, honeypunch,” he said slowly, the nickname a sneer that cut through Eve’s soul. “ _It is_. And I refuse to be part of it. I’m-” he took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”

Eve breathed hard. “Fine,” she said and her life slipped through her fingers like sand. “Go.”

He didn’t move for a minute or two, just looked at her in a way that made her heart break into a million pieces. Then he strode up towards them and Eve stepped aside to allow him to pass because she knew Villanelle wouldn’t. He didn’t look at either of them when he stepped into the hallway and started walking up the stairs with heavy footfall.

Villanelle whistled softly.

“Not a word, please,” Eve said, closing her eyes, trying very hard not to cry. Then she felt that Villanelle laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, very softly. Eve allowed it for a brief moment – brief, but still too long – before she shrugged it off. “I’ll call Carolyn” she said and she stepped away from Villanelle. “You just… Make yourself comfortable, or something.”

“Okay.” Villanelle walked straight into the kitchen and yanked the fridge open, browsed through its contents. Then her head popped up over the door. “Do you want me to put the wine in?”

“Eh...” It was such a mundane question, in such an insane situation. “Eh, yes. That would be nice.”

“Alrighty.” Villanelle closed the fridge and walked past Eve into the hallway, humming a song, just like she was the one who’d lived here for years, not Eve. The bottles clattered in their bag. Villanelle walked back into the living room, looked at Eve from head to toe as she passed. “Weren’t you going to make a phone call?”

Eve started, realized she’d been frozen to the same spot on the floor as where she entered. “Yes, yes I am, okay, I’m- I’ll take off my coat first.”

She walked into the hallway when Niko came downstairs again, carrying a large suitcase. The sight of him was enough to feel like her stomach wrapped itself up into a million small folds before rupturing.

“Niko,” she started, her hat in her hands, but he cut her off.

“Save it for the psycho,” he said, and he reached past her to get his coat, his arm brushing her shoulder, and then left without putting it on, slamming the door behind him so hard that she saw the picture frame next to it shake. Trembling, she leaned into their coats, inhaling their scent, realizing that her previous life, her _normal_ life, disintegrated further with every breath she took. “Come on, Eve,” she said softly to herself. “Come on.”

Then, Villanelle’s voice from the living room: “Are you sure you don’t want me to kill him?”

“Don’t even _think_ about it.”

Then, of course, the doorbell rang.

“Good evening.” The two agents. Of course. _Of course_.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Eve said, as calmly as she could. “Is anything wrong?”

“Not necessarily,” the left one said. He had blonde hair and a square chin, but he looked friendly enough. “We saw your husband leave after you and your friend entered. He looked...”

The other guy shook his head, and blondie shut his mouth. The other continued: “We just wanted to make sure that everything was alright. That’s all.” And as he spoke, he leaned to the side just a little bit, peeking inside the hallway.

“Everything is okay, thank you,” Eve said, squaring herself slightly. She was almost 100% sure that they were just collecting gossip and that everyone at MI5 would know tomorrow that she, Eve Polastri, wasn’t just a fired, paranoid woman in need of protection from her own delusions, but also about to be a divorcee. It took all her willpower to stay polite.

The agent tapped his hat. “Alright then. If there’s anything, you know where to find us.”

“I will,” she said without meaning it the slightest, and she closed the door.

Then she finally called Carolyn.

….

By the time Carolyn was about to arrive, all leftovers were gone, Eve had drunk almost half a bottle of wine and Villanelle the other half.

“This…” Villanelle said from the couch, holding up her glass, “...is _really_ bad wine.”

“No shit,” Eve said, taking a big gulp. She was sitting in the big chair that she and Niko never used and she couldn’t find a position that was comfortable. “Should you even be drinking?”

Villanelle raised one eyebrow. “What, because of this?” She gestured to her stomach, then took another sip. “No, probably not.”

The doorbell rang and Eve heaved herself off of the chair, dragged herself to the door and opened it to find not just Carolyn but also Kenny and Elena. Eve blinked. “Hello,” she said eventually, “I didn’t know I was hosting a party?”

“Apparently you are,” Carolyn said matter-of-factly, after eyeing the glass in Eve’s hand. “Can we come in? It is kind of chilly out.”

It was the strangest company Eve had ever had in their house. Villanelle sat up straight when Carolyn came in, suddenly capable of portraying proper behavior, but no one dared to sit next to her on the couch and so Eve awkwardly suggested them to sit at the kitchen table, Villanelle at the head.

Eve grabbed the second bottle of wine, put it on the table, got glasses for everyone and then sat down.

“So, here we are,” Carolyn began.

“Here we are.” Eve affirmed. She took the bottle, opened it, and poured herself a large, large glass, handing over the bottle to Elena after, who took it thankfully. Then she unlocked her phone under the table and started a recording.

“Villanelle...” Carolyn looked at her. “I’m not good with the niceties, so I’m going to jump straight in. Eve told me you are being targeted by The Twelve.”

“Correct.” Villanelle’s voice was composed, serious, professional.

“Do you have any idea why they might be targeting you?”

Villanelle thought for a while. “I do,” she said eventually. “I didn’t kill Konstantin, so. They’re probably angry with me.”

“Angry enough to want to kill you?” This time the question came from Eve. Villanelle shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Konstantin told me they’ve been angry with me before, but then usually he put in a word for me, you know, convince them to keep me. And I mean, they should, I’m the best there is.” She looked smug while saying it. Eve saw how Elena swallowed.“But, yeah, I imagine he couldn’t do that this time, since they wanted him dead and stuff.”

“Hmm.” Carolyn looked serious. “And how sure are you that it is The Twelve targeting you?”

Villanelle looked puzzled. “Konstantin asked the exact same thing.”

“You’ve been in touch with Konstantin?” It was Kenny who put in the question, it was the first thing he’d said since entering Eve’s house. Villanelle shifted her gaze from Carolyn to him.

“Eh, yeah? I know his number. He doesn’t change it a lot.”

“Interesting,” Carolyn said, sounding utterly disinterested. “But do you have a _real_ reason to suspect that it is The Twelve? It couldn’t be anyone else who is not exactly... fond with you for killing someone they held dear?”

Now Villanelle’s expression became suspicious. “Have _you_ been talking with Konstantin?”

“No.” Carolyn’s face was completely blank. “I’m asking the logical questions. I imagine he probably did the same.”

“Hmm.” Villanelle sat back in her chair, then eyed everyone at the table. “The guy who tried to kill me was a professional,” she said. “He had no identification on him and his gun had no registration number, either. He was only carrying a little bit of cash.” She let that information sink in. “Did you hear about his death?”

Eve looked at Kenny. Kenny shook his head.

“Then they cleaned up the body almost immediately after I left,” Villanelle said.

“Not to mention pay off or otherwise silence the people who witnessed it,” Eve said, picking up on her line of thought. “Which means that whoever hired him did not want anyone to know about or have possession of the body.”

Villanelle looked at her, nodding and grinning ever so slightly. “Exactly, Eve,” she said, and the way she looked at Eve over the edge of her glass made all the hair in Eve’s neck stand up.

Kenny cleared his throat. “Okay, so that points into the direction of at least some sort of organization with the capacity to steal a… a..."

"A man, a body," Elena jumped in to Kenny's rescue, "They stole a body from a hotel in London without it popping up on our radar.”

A short silence fell over the group. Villanelle drank.

“Could it have been us?” Elena looked doubtful.

Carolyn pursed her lips. “No. That order should’ve gone through me and I received nothing of the sorts.”

“Still, even if it isn’t The Twelve,” Eve said, “this organization is powerful enough for us to take it very seriously. They’re operating virtually under our noses.”

“I agree.” Carolyn got up from the table suddenly. “Nothing of what was said tonight should leave this room. We can’t be sure that there aren’t more Franks in our own ranks and before I sniff out those rats we should assume that we’ve been compromised.” She looked at everyone, then at Eve last. “Eve. Normally I would suggest a safe house for Villanelle, but I don’t trust enough people to man that location and your house at the same time.”

“Oh, but I can stay here,” Villanelle said, and everyone turned to her. Eve wanted to evaporate from the room. “What?” Villanelle asked, innocently. “Eve suggested it, I like the couch. And her husband is gone, so I should be safe.” She looked at Eve. “Although I should probably hold on to the knives in the house.”

Eve felt her cheeks burn with guilt, embarrassment, and the same sort of shame you feel when you’re caught stealing cookies as a kid. Carolyn looked at her in a way that almost begged Eve to deny it.

“She can stay here,” Eve said, defeated. Elena and Kenny both went a little pale. Carolyn’s mouth turned into a thin stripe.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Villanelle reached for the bottle, couldn’t stretch far enough, looked at Elena. “I’m sorry, could you maybe pass me that, please?”

Elena meekly obeyed.

“Thank you!”

“Kenny, Elena, we’re leaving.” Carolyn’s voice worked like a charm – the two got up almost simultaneously, mumbled something along the lines of a goodnight and shuffled into the hallway awkwardly, Carolyn behind them. At the doorway she lingered, looked back at Eve. “I’ll send a doctor by to check on Villanelle, and I’ll make sure there are two more agents monitoring the back of your house,” she said. “What happens inside… is up to you.” And then she left, leaving a silence in the kitchen that was heavy enough to turn coal into diamonds.

Villanelle sighed. “ _They_ are your colleagues? Phew. What a happy bunch.”

Eve just looked at her, saw her empty her glass, saw her lean back in her chair. Then her eye fell on the tracksuit, the stains, the dirty fingernails. “Do you...” she began, hesitantly. “Do you want to take a shower? And... maybe some clean clothes?”

“Oh,” Villanelle said, and she looked down at herself as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing and what she looked like. “Actually, yes, I would love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U 4 READING  
> :D  
> Also, no new chapter tomorrow, just thought I'd let you guys know.  
> UPDATE: new chapter out on Monday (that’s tomorrow in Europe)


	12. Mrs. China

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People, I've been overwhelmed with your kind comments and kudos and so I rushed home to get this chapter out.  
> Thank you!!
> 
> Chapter track: [Everything Everything - Night of the Long Knives](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR3nXuBwGcI)

Eve’s house was nice, she decided in the shower. Of course, it couldn’t match her usual hotel suites, but it had something homely, something safe. In a way, she realized, it reminded her of Anna’s house: it was a place where two people lived, where all things had their places, where one of the two toothbrushes on the sink was visibly used more than the other.

As she took the shampoo from the edge of the bathtub she remembered the last time she was in here – then, Eve had been laying in the tub, screaming, and she’d opened the tap in a last attempt to shut her up.

She closed her eyes, soaping her hair. Eve had been wearing that dress. Oh, the times she’d used that scenario at night before going to sleep…

The clothes that Eve had put out for her were very bland. Although she was happy to get out of the tracksuit, this new set didn’t have pockets deep enough to stuff the gun in, so she kept the weapon in her hands and left the bathroom. When she got downstairs she found Eve asleep on the couch, one hand hanging off the side, just making contact with her wine glass, as if she wanted to be sure that it was still there. Oksana stood in the doorway for a while, looking at her sleeping, slightly dumbfounded at the sudden opportunity handed to her to kill Eve, again.

Then she remembered the agents outside the house. They would probably be alarmed by the gunshot, and even though she had enough bullets to kill them, too, she decided against it. She was tired and a little bit tipsy and also quite done with knives for the time being. Tonight wouldn’t be a smart night to kill Eve.

She leaned over Eve and took her glass, sat down on the couch – there was just enough space between Eve’s feet and the arm rest if she took the pillows out – and took a sip, the gun in her lap. She looked at Eve, studied her features.

“Why did you take my glass?”

Oksana blinked. Eve opened one eye, looked back at her from the other side of the couch.

“Your glass is on the kitchen table, you know.” Eve’s voice was hoarse.

Oksana pretended to care and took a large sip from Eve’s glass. “Oopsie.”

Eve groaned, buried her face in a pillow. Oksana’s gaze hovered over her hair, her shoulders, her waistline, her back. She slumped a little into the couch, just enough for her left thigh to touch Eve’s feet.

“Aren’t you tired?” Eve’s voice was muffled through the pillow.

Oksana shrugged. “A little.”

Eve moved, turned around, worked herself up a little, breaking the touch. “Give me that,” she said brusquely, and Oksana surprised herself by handing the glass back over to her. Eve emptied it in one go, put it down next to the couch, and then wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself small in the other corner of the couch.

“I’m not going to bite,” Oksana said lightly. Eve’s gaze went to her lap, then back to her face, one brow up. Oksana sighed. “ _Or_ shoot you. I won’t.”

“Let’s say for the moment that I believe you,” Eve said. “Could you still… I don’t know...” she gestured at the gun. “Put it away, or something?”

Oksana rolled her eyes, took the gun and put it down next to the couch. A sudden deja-vu overwhelmed her – putting away a gun next to her bed, moments before…

“I don’t have a knife this time,” Eve said, her voice almost a whisper. And she opened her hands, shook her jacket, patted her pockets – as if that proved anything. “Oksana- actually, what do you- do you want me to call you Villanelle?”

The question took her off guard, and she had to think for a few long moments. “Yes,” she said eventually. “Call me Villanelle. I like that name more.”

“Okay, Villanelle.” Eve relaxed a little bit more, Oksana saw. “Listen. I might not get another chance to tell you this. I… I’ve done some thinking, the last few days.” Her expression became focused, Oksana couldn’t quite read it. “About you. I’ve been thinking about you. Actually, I never stopped thinking about you, and I… I don’t want to. I told you before that I want to know everything, and I want to tell you now that I still do, no matter who or what you are. I _know_ who you are, and… I still want to know everything.”

Oksana looked at her, counted her heartbeats. At ten, she said: “Then why did you stab me?”

Eve looked conflicted, bit on her lip. “Because you told me I couldn’t.”

“Because I told you- are you for real?”

“Yes!” Suddenly Eve became defiant. “You just go around doing whatever you want, killing people left and right, killing _Bill_ , and living this super luxurious life because of it.”

“Eh, yeah? So?” Oksana started feeling annoyed.

“And it isn’t fair,” Eve continued. “It’s not fair that you get to do all that, and then tell me that I can’t do something that I _really_ wanted to do.”

Oksana sat up. This conversation was become more and more frustrating. “You _really_ wanted to stab me?”

“God, no, that’s not-” Eve threw her hands up, buried her face in them afterwards. “I had to. I couldn’t- I didn’t want you to think I was...” Her voice died away.

“What? What do you think I think you are?” Oksana was agitated now.

“Weak,” Eve whispered, as she looked back at her. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

Oksana’s mouth fell open. Then she laughed. “Weak? Eve, what the fuck? You stabbed me to not seem weak?”

“Yes.” Eve’s voice was small now.

“That is ridiculous.”

“...a little, yes.”

“And rude.”

Eve leaned back into the arm rest. Her legs fell to one side, her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she said again, sounding tired. Oksana eyed her.

“If you hadn’t stabbed me,” she said, eventually. “I could’ve shown you what I really think of you.”

She saw the blush crawl onto Eve’s cheeks, continued: “I promise it’s all _but_ weak.”

Eve – did she gasp? Did she? – folded her hands, wrung her fingers. Oksana looked at them, then at Eve’s eyes again. “Does that make you nervous?”

Eve opened her mouth to say something but then seemed to change her mind. “It does,” she admitted. Oksana cocked her head.

“Why? Is it because...” she moved closer to Eve, turned her body to face her, pulled her legs up on the couch as well. “...you’ve never done it with a woman before?” She grinned. “No need to be nervous about that. I have enough experience for the both of us.”

She could see Eve’s chest rising with her breath, could see how she fumbled with the edge of her pullover. Shit. This was turning her on way more than she expected. She reached out to put her hand on Eve’s knee but miscalculated the distance and stretched her stitches, winced.

Eve started, as if she just woke up from a dream, opened her mouth, closed it again, then got up from the couch abruptly. “I’m- do you want some more wine?”

Oksana grimaced, leaned back into the couch, one hand on her abdomen. “I shouldn’t. Do you have painkillers?”

“Uhm, yeah, I… Probably, upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

After she left the living room, Oksana sighed deeply, slid back until she laid on the couch, stretched out, her hands on her stomach. It hurt, deep inside her body, and she wasn’t sure how much of it was physical. Her intestines obviously didn’t take kindly to the alcohol – she couldn’t really blame them, the wine had been _horrible_ – but there was an extra layer to it, an additional edge. What was it? Hunger?

No, she realized, as her hands lingered down. Longing. Want.

Then Eve came back into the living room, and she wasn’t alone. A man with blonde hair and an ugly, square jaw was right behind her, the nuzzle of his gun pointed at the back of Eve’s head. Oksana scrambled to get up, she reached for the gun but the man clicked his tongue, said: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you – she’ll be dead before you can aim.” He had a thick, Dutch accent.

Oksana gave him her ugliest look. Another man stepped in past Eve and the blonde one. He was significantly better looking than his partner, except for his eyes, which were deep set and reminded Oksana of a snake. “Villanelle,” he said, spreading his hands. “It’s an honor.”

“Whatever,” she said, disinterested. “Could you, what do they say here, scoot? Scramble? Get out? You’re interrupting something.”

“Oh, were we?” He looked at his partner, then back at Oksana, grinning. “We’re _so_ sorry.” His accent was strange, mixed up, a blend of all kinds of regions. “Oh, I forgot- how rude of us, we didn’t introduce ourselves. This is Mats,” he nodded to the blonde guy. “And you can call me Pedro. We’re here to escort you, Villanelle.”

“Escort her where?”

Oksana looked at Eve, surprised. That was ballsy.

Mats jolted the gun forwards, hitting Eve in the head with it, and she winced. “Did we ask you something, Mrs. China?”

She glared at him. “I’m _Korean_...”

“Shut up!” He stepped forward, put an arm around her neck and the gun against her temple. Pedro eyed it calmly, he’d probably seen it before. Then he turned back to Oksana. “They want to talk to you,” he said. “About your recent behavior.”

Oksana rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t they have called me, or something? Leave a voicemail, send an e-mail? I mean, I do appreciate the personal touch...” she gestured at the two men. “But is this really necessary?”

Pedro sighed, then he nodded at Mats who tightened his grip around Eve’s neck and put his finger on the trigger. Eve gasped, clawed at his arm. “We don’t have time for this,” Pedro continued. “You either come with us now and she lives, or...”

“We kill her, and take you with us anyway.” Mats looked as if he couldn’t wait.

“Yes,” Pedro said, “so, either way, you come with us tonight. She, on the other hand, can live or die. What do you say?”

“Hmm.” Oksana looked at Pedro, at Mats, at Eve. Then she shrugged. “I don’t care. Do what you must. I’m not going anywhere.”

She took in their reactions carefully. Pedro didn’t show the slightest crack, but Mats – Mats flinched, and she knew that they didn’t prepare for this scenario. Amateurs. Then her eyes went to Eve’s, which were wide, and her face pale, and then back to Pedro without moving as much as a muscle in her face. Then she raised her eyebrows. “What, lost your tongue?”

Pedro sighed. “Do it,” he said, and at that moment Eve stirred, Mats suddenly screamed, and Oksana grabbed the gun and shot Pedro between his ugly eyes, pointing it at Mats after, but his head was no longer where it was before – he toppled over and Eve backed away from him, her face the same as when she’d stabbed Oksana, and Oksana saw the knife dug deep into Mats’ side and the blood pouring out of it.

“I thought you said you didn’t have a knife,” she said, and Eve looked back at her, a bewildered expression on her face. Then she shot Mats as well, before he could reach for his gun, and then again to make sure that he was really dead.

The moment his body hit the floor the backdoor swung open and two other agents came running inside, guns in hand, and Oksana pointed hers at them, her blood soaring in her ears, ready to squeeze the trigger when Eve shouted: “Stop! Everyone, stop!”

The agents froze, looked at her, keeping half an eye on Oksana, and Oksana did the same. Eve was breathing hard. “Everything’s under control,” she said, unclear to whom exactly. She looked at Oksana. “I know these two. They are on our side.” Then to the agents. “She will not shoot you if you do not try to shoot her.”

For a brief moment, Oksana didn’t know if they would listen. Then they put down their weapons almost simultaneously, and Oksana followed suit, her heart hammering in her chest.

Then the doorbell rang, startling everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyouforreading <3


	13. You're Lucky it's not Carpet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe don't read this at work.  
> Chapter track: [Mio – Find It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liJgYadnF70)

If the doctor – his name was Armin, Carolyn sent him he said at the door – was surprised by the bloodbath he walked into, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t as much as blink at the two dead men on the floor. “Villanelle?” He asked, clearly not sure who was who. “I’ve been sent to investigate a stab wound?”

Villanelle propped her hand up, the gun still in it, and Armin smiled, unfazed, and walked up to her. Eve watched him breathlessly, then looked at Maxim and Sofia, the two agents who appeared to be about as surprised by the whole situation as she was. Maxim scratched his head, Sofia asked: “Are you okay, Eve?”

“I… I guess,” Eve replied, seeing how Villanelle laid down on the couch and pulled up her sweater, how Armin bent over her. “Thank you for coming in.”

Maxim shook his head. “We weren’t really in time, though. Luckily you were well cared for.” Then he laughed. “Who would’ve thought – that you’d be protected by the person we were supposed to be protecting you from. What a world.”

“Yeah...” Eve glanced back at Villanelle and Armin. They were talking softly, too quiet for her to hear the words. “Yeah, protected. We survived.”

Villanelle, saying “I don’t care” after they threatened to kill her. Yeah, _protected_. It sent shivers down her spine. If it had been an act – if – she couldn’t tell the difference.

Sofia hummed. “We should report to Carolyn.”

“No,” Eve said, sharply. She couldn’t explain where her mistrust for the woman came from exactly – it had taken root in Moscow, that much was sure, but what it had been, specifically, that fueled its growth, she couldn’t say. Just that there was something wrong, that something was off. Something smelled fishy. Armin’s timing, for example, was just a little too spot-on. What did he expect to walk into? Eve, on the ground, bleeding out? “No,” she said again, a little less intense this time, “let’s not bother her right now. It’s, what, one in the morning?”

Sofia sighed, Maxim rubbed his face. “Ten past one, to be exact,” he grunted. “We could still call her, but I guess we can also brief her tomorrow. Do you think they’d send more people?”

Eve bit her lip. “They will, definitely. But probably not tonight – I guess they will when those two don’t report back to them...” she nodded at the dead men. “So we should have some respite for the rest of the night, at least.”

“Makes sense.” Maxim looked at Sofia, who nodded, then back at Eve. “We’re not exactly properly staffed, but Sofia and I will split up to cover the front and back of the house and do the most we can to keep you two safe.”

Eve smiled weakly, then took Maxim’s hands, squeezed them. “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it more than she thought she would. She looked at Sofia. “Thank you.”

Then Armin was there suddenly. He was a bit of a mousy man, actually, now that she took the time to study his appearance; a weak chin, narrow nose and small, round glasses with a wired frame. “She seems to be just fine,” he said, and Eve wasn’t sure why he even reported to her. “Oh, she asked me to tell you.”

Eve blinked. How did he even… “Thank you…?”

He nodded. “Most welcome. Good night.” He turned to Maxim and Sofia. “Good night.” And left.

“I like him,” Villanelle said from the couch.

….

Maxim and Sofia helped getting the two bodies out into the garden shed, wrapped in the tarp they had laying around there, and then Eve spent another half an hour trying to get as much of the blood off of the floorboards, strangely no longer sleepy. She should try not getting killed more often instead of drinking that excuse for coffee at the office.

Villanelle watched her scrubbing. “You’re lucky it’s not carpet,” she said when Eve carried the third bucket of bloody water to the sink. “That would’ve had to be replaced entirely.”

“Well, that surely makes me feel better,” Eve said bitterly, pouring the water down the drain.

“It should.” Villanelle’s voice was much closer than she’d expected and she started, dropped the bucket in the sink, put her hands on the counter, eyes closed. When she turned around, Villanelle was in the kitchen as well, blocking her way out. “These painkillers are _amazing_ , by the way,” she said, leaning onto the bar. “I don’t feel a thing.”

“That’s good,” Eve replied, lacking a better response.

“Uhu.” Villanelle watched her closely, then took a few steps, closing the distance betwen them. Eve refused to back up – not that she could, but that wasn’t the point – and squared her shoulders, waiting for Villanelle to state her intentions, to say something.

“Are you scared, or angry?” Villanelle’s eyes were puzzled, were way too close. “I can never tell.”

Eve licked her lips. “A bit of both, I think,” she said.

Villanelle smiled, took another step, and now Eve backed up, felt the counter against her lower back. Her heart hammered in her throat, betrayed her, betrayed everything.

“And now?” Villanelle’s voice was soft, husky, and Eve could feel her breath on her face, she was that close. It smelled faintly like wine, still.

“Scared,” she whispered. Villanelle’s lips split into a grin, her nose brushed Eve’s slightly, and she put out her hands past Eve on the counter, trapping her.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, and she moved her head so that her lips hovered over Eve’s jawline, towards her ear. “In fact...” her voice sent shivers through Eve’s body. “I think you’re as turned on as I am, Eve.”

And god. God knew she was. Her breath was shaky, her lips dry, her thighs tense. It was horrible and amazing, exciting and ridiculous. In their _kitchen_. No. She should say no. But her mouth didn’t obey her, her voice died in her throat, and it came out as the smallest of whimpers, as a futile complaint.

Villanelle backed up a little, far enough to look Eve in the eyes, her mouth slightly open. “I thought so,” she said.

And then she kissed her. This time there was no knife to stop her, and her lips were soft, hot on Eve’s. Villanelle’s mouth opened, enclosed Eve’s lower lip, and Eve parted hers and tasted Villanelle, sank deeper into the kiss as Villanelle pressed her body against Eve’s and pushed her up against the kitchen counter, moved her hands to Eve’s hips.

God.

Then Eve had her hands in Villanelle’s hair and she tilted her head, kissing her like she’d never kissed anyone else before with a hunger that she didn’t know she possessed. Villanelle’s hands slid to her back, then down over the waistband of her jeans, lower still, and then she almost effortlessly lifted Eve onto the kitchen counter. Eve gasped for air, and Villanelle kissed her neck, sucked softly at her skin.

Eve wrapped her arms around Villanelle, hid her face in the crook of her neck while Villanelle’s fingers moved to Eve’s hips again, then forwards onto her thighs, and her thumbs slid over her jeans in circles, going further and further inside. Eve’s breath was short and hitched, her brain was scattered, her whole being reduced to that one hot spot between her legs, the place where all her nerves suddenly seemed to burst aflame.

Villanelle stilled her hands and leaned back, observing Eve as she was; trembling, cheeks flushed. “You’re beautiful,” she said, solemnly. And then, with a grin: “You’re going to be even more beautiful when I make you come.”

Eve whimpered and came undone completely at the images that flooded her brain – the things Villanelle would do, the things _Villanelle_ would do to her. “Villanelle,” she said, and shit, the first thing she managed to articulate was her name, for fuck’s sake. “We- we shouldn’t...”

Villanelle rolled her eyes. “Says who? Carolyn?”

Eve sighed, then put her hands on Villanelle’s, pushing her fingers into the skin of her thighs. The thought of Carolyn shifted something inside of her, brought up an Eve she didn’t know too well – an Eve that stabbed people, that thought about strangling people. An Eve that wanted Villanelle with every fiber of her being. She looked at Villanelle, controlled her breathing, traced her fingers over Villanelle’s hands to her wrists, grabbed them.

“Fuck me,” she said. Villanelle’s mouth fell open slightly, her eyes darted from Eve’s left to her right, and Eve felt a surge of something – something hot, intensely powerful – rush through her veins.

“Right here?”

The question surprised Eve, if only for just a moment. She studied Villanelle’s face, sought for a hint of what was going on behind those wide eyes, but ended up staring at her mouth, her lips, her tongue just visible behind her teeth. “I’m not going to ask again,” she heard herself say.

It was as if something unleashed in Eve, in Villanelle. Kissing was no longer the appropriate word for what happened after, Eve’s clothes suddenly heavy on her and she pulled her jumper over her head, felt Villanelle’s eyes on her skin as she undid Eve’s bra, cupped a breast. Eve’s skin was on fire everywhere that Villanelle touched her, she arched her hips into her, gasped when Villanelle traced one finger right there...

The thought that doing this on the kitchen counter was unhygienic passed her mind only once before everything reduced to Villanelle’s hands, Villanelle’s fingers, her mouth and her tongue.

….

The morning came way too fast.

Eve woke up with a start to find that Villanelle was laying on her chest, her hair messy and undone and right below Eve’s nose, smelling like her own shampoo. The weight of Villanelle’s body on her own was, in a way, reassuring – her skin warm on Eve’s, her breath slow. It made the headache rather bearable.

Without thinking about it, Eve wrapped her arms around Villanelle, who hummed softly as the touch woke her up, then snuggled her nose in between Eve’s chin and collarbone.

“Hmmm,” Villanelle continued, and her hips ground into Eve’s slightly. “Morning.”

Eve chuckled. “You’re a teenager.”

Villanelle bit into the skin of her neck. “And you’re _way_ too tasty. Besides...” she worked herself up on an elbow, and the light that came into the bedroom through the curtains fell on one half of her face. Eve swallowed, drinking in the sight of her. “You owe me one. Or, well. Several.”

Eve’s cheeks flushed hot. “I thought you...”

“Yes,” Villanelle said. “But that didn’t count, I did it myself.” Her eyes flashed, and Eve… spiraled into the abyss of want that opened up below the bed. Then Villanelle rolled off of her, stretched out and got up. Eve followed her with her gaze, her breath stuck in her throat as Villanelle turned to face her and the light hit the bruised, stitched up skin, patched in all tones of blue and pink and purple. She didn’t know if she’d ever stop feeling guilty for it.

“You’re staring,” Villanelle said, as she collected the pieces of clothing she’d dropped in there. Eve jerked her eyes up and was about to protest when Villanelle grinned and added: “Don’t stop. I like it.” Then she winked and walked out of the bedroom, still completely naked, leaving Eve by herself in a bed that felt desecrated.

Her stomach wrung at the thought of Niko, but when she turned her face into her pillow she only found her own scent – her own, mixed with that of Villanelle. “I’m sorry, baby,” she muttered softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh people I was so unsure if things went too fast after all, but I re-read it like a 100 times and I think it made sense in the whole order of things, so, yeah. I kept it.


	14. Your Average MI5 Behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Hayley Kiyoko – Cliff’s Edge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZfCUM1uyvw)

Her reflection judged her.

Eve tried to avoid looking at it, turned the shower open to fill the bathroom with steam and cloud the mirror.

“Woah, Eve, sauna much?”

Villanelle’s voice sent Eve almost through the roof. “Jesus, Villanelle, ever heard of knocking?”

“I have, why?” Villanelle reached past Eve and grabbed one of the toothbrushes – Niko’s, Eve saw, and she yanked it out of her grip. Villanelle sighed. “Mornings aren’t really your thing, are they?”

“No, people barging in without knocking aren’t really my thing,” Eve snapped. She suddenly felt very naked, and she imagined what her body would look like in the harsh morning light. It wasn’t necessarily a nice image.

Villanelle raised a brow and looked Eve over very, very slowly. Eve felt distraught. “Really?” Villanelle said. “Because, if I remember correctly, last night I _totally_ was your thing.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“What, fuck you? Gladly.”

Eve’s heart skipped a beat.

“We have to go,” she protested, weakly, when Villanelle stepped into her. “They’re waiting for us, we should be ready to go in half an hour...”

Villanelle’s hands traced over her sides as she buried her face into Eve’s neck, kissed her skin softly. “Then I’ll just have to be fast,” she whispered, and sank through her knees.

….

“Good morning.” Maxim sounded fresh, but Eve knew it was an act.

“Morning,” she said. He looked at her, too long, _too long_ – did he see it? Could he see it like she felt it still sticking to her skin? Then he smiled.

“I know, I’ll talk to you again after you’ve had your coffee. Good morning, Villanelle.”

“Same to you.” Villanelle’s voice was brisk, joyful.

Sofia was in the car, behind the wheel, and she turned around to Eve and Villanelle as they got into the back. “Hi folks,” she said. “Had a good night?”

“Oh, just wonderful,” Villanelle said. “The couch was amazing.”

Eve grunted, and Villanelle smiled apologetically. “Eve means to say she also had a _great_ night.”

“She hasn’t had coffee yet,” Maxim pitched in as he got into the car. Sofia laughed and started the engine, said: “I know enough. Okay. Everyone got their safety belts on?”

The drive was enjoyable enough. Maxim and Sofia made easy small talk – impressive, considering they didn’t sleep at all – and Villanelle was the perfect conversation partner, quipping and joking and being delightful company in general. Eve just tried to disappear into the seating.

When they arrived at MI5 headquarters, Eve felt light headed. She walked after Maxim and Sofia and Villanelle, went through the security check without even noticing the guards patting her down, entered the elevator, got out and walked through an opened door into the meeting room where she saw Carolyn and Elena. The next moment, Maxim and Sofia left them and she sat down, bewildered, suddenly missing someone.

“Where’s Kenny?”

She realized she’d rudely interrupted Carolyn’s introduction of the meeting and turned bright red. Next to her, Villanelle leaned forward over the table, said: “You’ll have to excuse Eve, she didn’t really get a lot of sleep last night. We had a pillow fight.”

“Right.” If Carolyn was confused, she didn’t show. Elena eyed Eve from the other end of the table, one brow raised. “Kenny is working on something else right now.”

“I- I see,” Eve stammered, trying to avoid making eye contact with Elena.

“Maxim and Sofia briefed me this morning.” Carolyn looked at her over the tips of her fingers. “A very unfortunate turn of events, I must say. I am glad you both were unharmed.”

“Thank you,” Eve said, her voice small. Villanelle nodded.

“Now, I was just saying that we are meeting because of a message I received from Moscow last night.” Carolyn went back to business. “A gas explosion in the hospital where Konstantin was recovering destroyed the larger part of the building.”

Eve’s mouth fell open and she felt Villanelle freeze next to her, for the briefest of moments. “Is he…?”

“He is alive,” Carolyn said, and Villanelle sniffed. “But he is no longer safe in Moscow. I fear that the disclosure of my correspondence with him to Vlad has… _exposed_ him to Russian intelligence as well as being on The Twelve’s blacklist. That’s why I sent Kenny to get him.”

“You sent Kenny to- what, _by himself_?!” Eve could hardly believe her ears.

“Of course not.” Carolyn looked incredulous. “I sent two of my best people with him, and I’ll be traveling to Moscow myself in an hour. I don’t expect them to give him up easily.”

Suddenly Eve felt a stone drop in her stomach. Villanelle, who was uncharacteristically quiet, leaned back into her chair, probably because she felt it coming as well when Carolyn moved her eyes to her. “But they will when I tell them we have you.”

“No,” Eve said. “No.” She looked at Villanelle and then back at Carolyn, at Elena, who suddenly avoided her gaze.

Villanelle huffed. “You don’t _have_ me,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed. Then the doors of the meeting room opened and four broad shouldered men entered the room.

“I’m sorry,” Carolyn said, “but we do.” And as she gave a short nod, two of the men broke loose from the wall and approached Villanelle, whose eyes grew wide.

“No, no- stop!” Eve got up, and the men hesitated, halted, looked at Carolyn. Eve was breathing hard, her palms sweaty. “You can’t do this,” she said. “They- we can’t trust them.”

“I trust them,” Carolyn said plainly. “Eve, please. Sit down.”

“Like you trusted Mats and Pedro?” Eve’s voice was like ice, nothing like the hot heat that she felt pumping through her veins. “Because they didn’t really do their job very well, when they-”

“That’s _enough_ , Eve.” Carolyn had never raised her voice at them before and Eve was baffled, confused for a moment. Before she could say another word, Carolyn looked at the men and said: “Take her.”

They stepped forward, grabbed Villanelle by the shoulders. Eve screamed, was held back by one of the other men, had to witness how Villanelle barely resisted, didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact with Carolyn once as they lifted her from the chair and put her hands behind her back, cuffed her. Only when the group – it looked ridiculous, three big men and one small woman between them – moved towards the door did she look away from Carolyn towards Eve. And she smiled.

Then the door fell shut behind them.

“They’re going to kill her,” Eve said, and she pushed the last guard away from her – he let her. “She’s going to get killed and it will be on _you_.”

“Eve, please.” Carolyn was still standing as well, her hands on the back of her seat. “Don’t let me ask him to take you, as well.”

With terror, Eve looked back at the last remaining guard, suddenly aware that he hadn’t left with the others. When she looked back at Carolyn she felt like throwing up. “What is this,” she breathed. “What is going on?”

“This is the plan,” Carolyn said. “As it has always been.”

….

She wasn’t going with them to Moscow, that much was clear after Carolyn left, and neither was Elena. They sat in the meeting room with the two of them, quietly.

“They’re not giving her up, you know,” Elena said after a while. “It just makes sense to… to use her as leverage. Konstantin is an important link in the whole story. He’ll be able to...”

“I know,” Eve said sharply, interrupting her, then putting her face in her hands. “I’m sorry Elena. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

Elena got up from her chair and then sat down in the one next to Eve’s, put a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Girl,” she said softly. “What is going on? D’you wanna talk about it? I promise I won’t judge.”

Eve sighed. “I don’t even know where to begin. My life is falling to pieces.”

“Niko?”

“He’s gone.” Eve felt a defeat settle in her stomach. She hadn’t felt this helpless, this powerless, in forever. “I drove him away from me.”

Elena clicked her tongue. “Shit, girl...”

Eve sighed, leaned back in her chair. “Yeah. But it’s my own fault, you know. It was bound to happen. I was… I was bored. I was so bored with my life, and then this whole Villanelle business happened and I… I just felt so _alive_ , suddenly. I forgot I could feel like that.” She stared at a point on the wall, not seeing the plaster at all. “And he- he just… he is so _mundane_. So normal. Everything about him is normal, everything about our life was normal, and I… And I’m just not.”

“Well,” Elena said, her voice light, “I’d say that having the hots for a serial killer is indeed not your average MI5-behavior.”

Eve couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “Oh, come on.”

“What?” Elena smiled. “A pillow fight, you expect me to believe that?”

Eve bit her lip, put her hands out in front of her on the table, looked at Elena, hesitated for a few seconds before she said, a grin tugging at her lips: “I came _five times_.”

Elena's mouth fell open, then she laughed, and then she high-fived Eve. “I _knew it_!”

“Not a word to Carolyn.”

“Not a word to Mrs. Martens.”

“ _Or_ to Kenny.”

Now Elena hesitated. “...not even a little tiny teeny bit?”

Eve raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think he’d be able to look at me ever again.”

“True that.” Elena seemed to overthink her options. “I’ll break it to him softly. I think he’s grown, he might be able to deal with it. I mean, he handled those love letters, if you can call them that, from his mother pretty well, don’t you think?”

Eve laughed. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

It was quiet again for a little while. “I hope he will be okay in Moscow,” Elena said softly. Eve eyed her.

“Are you two…?”

Elena smiled. “I wouldn’t call it a thing, or something. But… yeah. Sort of.”

Eve grinned. “That’s great.” Then the smile faded from her face and her heart sank as she remembered where she was, what had happened. Elena looked at her, nodded. “Yeah,” she said, understandingly. “At least he’s not in a cell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to see Kiyoko play in Februari, people. Couldn't resist adding a song from her's to this story. Any fans here, with me?  
> Also, the plot is getting places, you know. It's getting places.
> 
> Little note: I'm traveling upcoming few days - I managed to write ahead so I added draft chapters, let's hope AO3 works with me - but I won't be able to update daily, sorry 


	15. I Feel Like a Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Isadora - Visions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgZcEs-xiAc)

Things had been very busy for Eve.

After that horrible meeting, she had jumped at the details of all their security personnel, determined to find out if there were more rotten eggs among them and thankful for the distraction that it provided from the whole scenario. Elena pitched in, and by the time they’d collected all files and traced back educational details, places of residence, former employers, the day had passed and they’d heard nothing from Moscow.

The knowledge that Villanelle was detained somewhere in the building drove Eve mad. Carolyn had been clear: Villanelle was off limits. She was not to be interrogated, briefed or contacted in general – she served as a lure for The Twelve, nothing more, at least not for the time being. Notifying the Russians of her captivity was more for show: that information would leak and hopefully draw attention away from Konstantin long enough for Kenny and the two agents to get him out of Moscow. But in the meantime she  _was_ locked up somewhere, and Eve couldn’t find out where: that information was classified above her level of clearance and since she couldn’t ask around about Villanelle – no one else in the building was supposed to know about her being there – she got stuck in dead ends all the time that she wandered around the corridors, looking for places to hold an important witness. 

When she came home that first day she was alone, save for Maxim and Sofia who were still stationed around her house. Carolyn wasn’t taking any risks, but whether it was to prevent Eve from being taken, or prevent her from running away, Eve didn’t know. Niko didn’t come home and she didn’t call him, instead she spent the largest part of the night cleaning: the floorboards, the kitchen counter, the broken glasses that they’d pushed off the counter, the bed linen. Everything. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, the memories weren’t fading. 

She slept on the couch.

The next morning, Maxim and Sofia drove her to their own dodgy office. There, unable to go looking for Villanelle physically, she spent the whole day trying to untangle the links between the kills, the people who might be intermediaries next to Konstantin, and still it was quiet on the Eastern front. Eve and Elena both got more and more nervous as the radio silence continued. 

Then, it must have been around six in the evening on the third day, Elena suddenly got up from her desk. “Eve,” she breathed. “You need to see this.”

Eve got up from her seat, walked over to Elena, who turned her laptop for Eve to see: it was a Russian newspaper, the third or fourth page, by the looks of it, and it showed a big picture of Anna. Elena’s software had translated the Russian for them, and the title read “Beloved school teacher found dead in own apartment”.

“Jesus.” Eve scrolled through the piece, but the translation software was no good and most of the text made no sense. “When was this published?”

“About five days ago,” Elena said. “I sent the piece to our translator. Hopefully they will be able to give us more details than…” she squinted at the text. “Death unfortunate in public mouth?”

Anna, dead… Eve felt cold to the bone. Suddenly she saw an image of Villanelle, pointing a gun and smiling before squeezing the trigger.

“Let me know when the translation comes through,” she said. And then her phone buzzed. 

It was a text, and at first it didn’t make sense to Eve – there were timestamps and short lines, almost like observations, like a log of events. Then she saw the country code and she gasped. “Elena,” she said, “you won’t believe this. Do you remember that old lady from Villanelle’s apartment in Paris?”

Elena’s face was blank for a moment, then her eyes grew wide. “No way.”

“ _Yes_.” Eve’s heartbeat sped up. “She believed me. Oh my god. She _believed me_.”

“What did she send?” Elena craned her neck to read from Eve’s screen. 

“Logs, like I asked her.” Eve was breathing hard. “And from the looks of it...” she scrolled through the list. “There have been visitors to Villanelle’s apartment.”

….

They debated whether or not to go for a whole ten minutes. Then Elena accidentally booked two night train tickets to Paris – she couldn’t help it, those advertisements for the Eurostar were popping up  _everywhere_ after they’d Googled for that YouTube video with Villanelle. Maxim and Sofia were not pleased when Eve told them that she needed to go to the station, but Carolyn was still off the radar and the urgency of the matter – Eve might have exaggerated it a little bit – eventually convinced them that it was necessary.

She went by her house to pack some stuff. Niko still hadn’t been there, or at least not that she could see. She considered leaving a note but then didn’t. She wasn’t sure why. 

….

“What a _shame_ that those cameras they installed are not remotely accessible,” Elena said. They were speeding through the Tunnel, it was pitch black outside their first class wagon. Eve nodded. 

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. I mean, if Kenny’d been here, it probably would’ve been possible. But, yeah.”

Elena chuckled and then her face dropped. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He is,” Eve said. “He has to be.” She put a hand on Elena’s, squeezed softly, and the other smiled faintly. 

“Let’s go through the list once more,” she said, and Elena opened her laptop. They’d collected the observations from the French lady and made profiles of at least three people who’d been to Villanelle’s apartment after Eve had left: one woman and two men, all of average age and body posture, although one of the men had wore very trendy clothing and the other had been, as the lady put it, “a gray mouse”. Even though the observations were very detailed, they were often useless – many of them included stuff about the weather, or about the smell of a particular dish that the other neighbor was cooking that day.

When they arrived in Paris it was the early morning of the next day. They booked a cheap hotel and set up their stuff in their room, and Eve called the French lady with a phone they’d bought on their way to the hotel to ask if anyone was at the apartment right now.

“The coast is clear,” she told Elena after hanging up. “I think we were invited for coffee, actually.”

Elena laughed. “I could do with some caffeine. Do you wanna go now?”

The building looked the same as the last time: elegant, old, and slightly in need of maintenance. The lady’s house smelled a little stuffier than Eve remembered, but the coffee was strong and she served them croissants that melted in their mouths. They exchanged some niceties and in the end left with the key to Villanelle’s apartment.

When she opened the door, the first thing that struck her was that no one had cleaned. Of course no one had. But still. The floor was horribly sticky, there was glass everywhere and the bloodied bed linen were in the same place as they’d been as when Eve left. But the clothes were gone, and the drawer with outfits, wigs and weapons was empty. “Shit, I should start killing people for a living,” Elena said as they walked through the apartment. “What a place. Unbelievable.”

“I know,” Eve said, a little bit absently. “Could you give me a hand with this?”

Together they shoved the fridge from the wall, and then pried the skirting off. Behind it was a small cavity, showing a usb port with a stick in it. The trip wire in front of it was still in place. Eve took out her phone – her own phone – and texted the number she’d been given by the team who installed the cameras. When she got a reply – a text with a happy smiley face – the little blue light next to the stick went out.

Elena whistled, and Eve felt a surge of adrenaline. “I feel like a spy.”

With trembling fingers, Eve got the usb stick out of the plug and put in a new one, then reinstalled the trip wire and texted the number again. They waited until the light went on – accompanied by a text with a sad smiley – before they put the skirting back and shoved the fridge up against it, redistributed some of the glass in front of it to hide its movement, then stepped through the apartment some more to make tracks everywhere.

She tried not to think about the last time she’d been here, but it was difficult to push back the images, the feelings, the memories. At the door, she lingered for a moment, looking back into the apartment. Elena waited patiently, walked out into the hallway, giving Eve a moment. When she closed the door and locked it, she felt as if she was locking off a part of her history with it.

They went back to their hotel after returning the key to the lady and thanking her once more for the coffee and croissants. The usb stick in her pocket felt heavy, burned a little every time Eve put her fingers around it.

“Do you want to look at the footage?”

They’d just arrived in their room. Elena looked incredulous. “Eh, yes? What, you wanted to wait until we were back in London? Hello? Where is Eve and what did you do to her?”

Eve put up her hands. “Okay, okay, take it easy. I thought you might want to explore Paris a little first, see the Eiffel Tower, that kind of stuff. Also if you want to go to the Louvre we should start queuing now and we might get in tomorrow morning.” She coulnd’t explain why she didn’t want to see the footage, but it made her incredibly anxious.

Elena waved her suggestions away. “I want to see that stuff first, and then go see the Eiffel Tower when it’s dark. I hear they have a great light show, and I’m not that into art anyway.”

So Eve grabbed the laptop, put in the usb, and booted up the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay and now I'm traveling for reals (Stockholm is beautiful people!!!) so.  
> next chapter will be delayed <3


	16. Did You Lose Weight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Twenty Øne Pilots - Levitate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uv_1AKKKJnk)

She was familiar with cells. Sometimes they were dirty, sometimes they were plain disgusting. Juvenile cells had been a bit better, on average, if you ignored the faded and supposed-to-be-uplifting colors on the walls, but women’s prison in Russia had been the closest Oksana had ever been to hell. 

Then again, she’d never been in a British cell. 

Everything was made from the same, sterile and clean white stuff: the floor, the walls, the ceiling, even the bed. There was no opening except for the door, no window, just one ceiling bulb that emitted harsh, blueish light. Oksana felt like a stain in this room. She screamed when they locked her up, screamed as loud as she could when they left her, but the echo was so intense that she stopped, and no one came when she called or beat at the door. 

She sat down on the mattress, trying to stay calm, fighting against the rising panic in her chest like that Greek king who tried to command the tide to stop. She went from one prison to the next, being in that Russian hellhole to being on the run from Eve, from The Twelve, to this – this inside of a sugar cube. The worst thing was that there was no clock, no way for her to tell the time, and that it was overwhelmingly quiet – the only thing she heard was her own breathing and her heartbeat that hammered in her ears.

She clenched her teeth, trembling, and then she could no longer resist the flood of doubt, the fear, the panic – it flowed out of all crevices in her soul, filled her up until it came out through her ears, her eyes, nose and mouth like ice cold water, one question at the epicenter:  _did Eve know_ ?

Her agony screamed back at her through the echo, and she clasped her hands over her ears, rocking back and forward, eyes closed. 

….

She had no idea how much time had passed when she woke up, which meant that she’d slept. The light was still on and she felt famished, got herself up from the mattress. 

There was a plate in front of the door. The food didn’t even look that bad – she let herself think that it might even look better than the hotel food – but it was cold. It could’ve been there for hours. There was no cutlery, so she ate with her hands and washed her fingers after in the small sink in the corner, swallowed the pills that came with the food, drank greedily from the tap. She hoped they were painkillers, her stomach started to bother her again, but when time passed she started feeling intensely tired – sedatives, she realized bitterly. “I guess the UK is not that different from Russia,” she mused out loud before she sank into a deep sleep. 

….

In her dream she was at high school again. She was cramming French vocabulary for a test later that week, at Anna’s kitchen table, a cup of steaming tea next to her book. Anna was in the kitchen, singing along to the radio, and looked over her shoulder to see how Oksana was doing, smiled at her.

When she woke up she realized she’d been crying.

….

How long had she been here, now? One day? Two? 

She tried counting, tried to keep track of time passing that way. She managed to count all the way between lunch and dinner, which was six hours, twelve minutes and twenty-three seconds. But then there were pills with the dinner again and even though she knew that they were sedatives she took them, swallowed them down with water, longing for the darkness of the sedated sleep. 

….

Time was something that no longer existed for Oksana. The only thing that existed was this one, exact moment inside this cell that stretched out until eternity. She counted the dinners – they were identifiable, usually they were warm when the were shoved through a small hatch in the door, she was never in time to see anyone push it in – and it was at the sixth that she swallowed the sedatives and that the tiredness didn’t come.

She lay on her back on the mattress, waiting for them to kick in, but nothing happened. She counted until three hundred, six hundred, nine hundred, and still she didn’t feel drowsy. 

Confused, she got up, walked to the door, put her hands on the metal. “Hello?”

No reply. She walked to the other end of the cell, back to the door, back to the other end. They’d taken her shoes and the concrete was cold. 

“Eve couldn’t have known,” she said out loud. Normally she would write these thoughts down to help her structure the world around her. It was difficult to understand motives of other people, but she’d been practicing a lot the last four years. It helped in finding the best moment to kill someone, in preparing for what they might do, where they might run to, but it was a long and tiresome exercise for her. That made it perfect to pass the time, even though she’d went through the same rhetoric countless times before.

“Carolyn knew,” she continued. “But Eve didn’t. She cannot act, I would’ve been able to read her.”

She turned, walked back towards the door, still slightly in doubt over that last sentence – she hadn’t seen the knife coming, had she? - but it had to make do. 

“I am here because Carolyn wants Konstantin, and she thinks she can get him by offering me. So I am of value to the Russians.” She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt proud when she said that, even after six days. She turned at the door. “That makes me of value to the British as well. So it makes sense that they don’t want me to run away, or to be stolen, or killed. So this is to protect me.”

But even though the logic made sense, it didn’t make her feel less trapped. If anything, it made her feel like a trophy, put behind glass.

“When they put me in here, they were already on their way to Russia. That has been almost a week ago.” She thought, at least. “If they made a deal to send me over to them, I should have been collected already days ago.”

And that thought, always, managed to settle her down a little bit. 

She used the toilet, drank some water, and laid down on the mattress again. At some point, they would let her out. They would.

Then there was a series of loud, metallic sounds, and the door swung open.

“Villanelle?”

It was Konstantin.

Oksana sat upright on the edge of the bed, suspicious, not sure if she was imagining this or not – had she fallen asleep? Had the pills been sedatives after all? Was she dreaming?

She closed her eyes hard and then looked again. It was still Konstantin, Konstantin leaning against the door frame and looking like he aged ten years since she last saw him. She suddenly felt cold. It couldn’t have been ten years, right?

“Come,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

She blinked, got up from the bed. “Did you lose weight?”

“Really? You see me for the first time since shooting me and _that’s_ the first thing you ask?”

She walked up to him, through the door, cautiously. There was no one in the corridor, which was as white as the inside of her cell. She looked at him. “Yeah,” she said. “You look like shit.”

He laughed. “You too. Although the prison outfit suits you.”

Villanelle pouted, unsure – there hadn’t been a mirror in the cell, either, and washing from a sink had it’s limits. She didn’t think she smelled that bad, though, given the circumstances. They gave her clean clothes every other day. 

They walked through the corridor, passing doors similar to her own on the way. Konstantin’s gait was slow, he seemed to have trouble with every step. “But, seriously,” she said. “How much did you lose?”

“About ten kilo’s,” he replied. They went through another, bigger door, and arrived in a really small room. Konstantin looked up at the camera in the corner, and there was a buzzing sound before the door behind them slid shut. Then the floor moved and Oksana realized they were in an elevator.

“How’s Irina?”

He eyed her, looking amused. “Good,” he said. “She misses you.”

“Heh.” Oksana shook her head. “I miss her too.”

After a little while, the moving stopped and the door in front of them slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a world of color: stone floors and wooden walls, paintings, yellow light, windows – dark, so it was evening, or night, or early morning, but at least not midday. 

“Where are we going?”

It was the first question she’d raised that was not about Konstantin, or his family. He hesitated in answering, stepped out of the elevator, and she followed him, looking at his back when he turned away from her. The doors closed behind them and she started feeling increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Konstantin?”

He turned around. “They’re going to hand you over to the Russians,” he said gravely, and Oksana’s breath stopped, her heart stopped, time stopped – bile formed in the back of her throat, she felt like throwing up, she reached for the wall and when she found it the wood was cold under her fingers. 

With a thick voice, she managed to say: “This is because we never had sex, right?”

He sighed, shook his head. “No,” he said. And then a grin spread over his face, so wide that it almost split his head in two: “it is because it was  _a joke_ .”

Oksana’s mouth fell open.

Konstantin’s laugh echoed off the wooden walls, and it was so loud and so good that Oksana, as relief washed through her, suddenly found herself laughing with him, hesitantly at first but then full on, laughing until they both were clutching their wounds and leaning against the wall, a heating element, anything for support. Some people passed them awkwardly.

“You had that coming,” Konstantin said, wiping away tears from his eyes. 

“You’re an arsehole,” Oksana replied grudgingly. 

“Oh, come on. I would never let them take you, you know I wouldn’t.” He put out a hand. “Peace?”

She looked at him, squinted her eyes, but then took his hand, clenched it. “Peace.”

He looked content. “Alright, now, let’s get something decent to eat. The cafeteria here has good sausages.”

….

There were only a few other people in the cafeteria and they minded their own business. He told her what had happened over two plates with sausages with syrup. Oksana had pancakes, a raspberry smoothie and the tallest glass of orange juice she could find, and by the time Konstantin finished telling her all the details she’d went for a refill. 

“But,” she said in between sips, “you told me you didn’t know who The Twelve were.”

“I don’t,” he said, wiping off the last remains of his sausages with a piece of bread. “But I know the people they talk with, and that gives us something to work with. I just haven’t told them yet.”

“Is it that lemon woman?” 

He eyed her as he dabbed at his greasy lips with a napkin. “Who?”

“Carolyn.” The name sounded round in her own accent. 

He laughed. “Lemon woman. Nice one.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not her. She’s on our side, even though she asked you to kill me.”

Oksana’s eyes flashed. “I said no.”

“I _know_ you said yes.”

“But I didn’t mean it.”

He chuckled. Then the doors of the cafeteria opened and a large group of people entered, talking loudly. Oksana and Konstantin followed them with their eyes. “I think it’s time we move,” Konstantin said when they started ordering food and settling down at the long tables. “We’ve kept that Polastri woman waiting long enough.”

Oksana’s eyebrows shot up. “Eve?”

He looked at her, a look in his eyes that she remembered, a look that he used whenever he was worried about her. “Yes. She’s been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKYOU for reading  
> I managed to fuck up drafts and posted without preview.  
> What a day.  
> Anyway.


	17. The Appropriate Use of Past Tense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [HMLTD – Pictures of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cy0QqFK57pY)

She had been so lucky. They said it several times as they watched the footage and saw with rising horror that, for some random reason, Eve left the apartment exactly four minutes before Villanelle’s visitors came. In fact, she probably just turned around the corner outside the moment they showed up.

The three looked incredibly ordinary. They could see what the lady had meant with ‘gray mouse’ and ‘hip’ and understood that it was the best she could’ve done to describe them: nothing about them stood out, except maybe for the fashionable guy, who had deep set eyes that gave him a snake like resemblance. Eve recognized him with a start, pausing the screen when his face was clearly visible. “That’s one of the guys who came into my house,” she said, her lips dry. “He said his name was Pedro, but I think it was an alias. Villanelle shot him.” She still remembered the way his head snapped back when the bullet went through his skull, the pieces of brain that she’d wiped off from the floor.

“Jesus, Eve,” Elena muttered as they watched them walk into Villanelle’s living room, guns drawn. “You have a little angel on your shoulder, you know that?”

Eve didn’t reply, her stomach tight as her eyes followed the three people on the screen. The other guy, even though she thought it was that doctor, Armin, for a short moment – her heart lurched – was definitely someone else; his face was too square, his shoulders too broad. The woman had blonde hair, shoulder length, and an almond shaped face. The three of them observed the bloodied bed linen, checked the weapons in the closet, poked through the clothing and checked the fridge.

“Is there any sound with this?” Eve asked, pausing the recording.

“I think so,” Elena replied. “Let me… wait.” she upped the volume, rewound the recording and pressed play again. They could hear the creaking of the floorboards and the squeaking of glass beneath their shoes, but none of them spoke – not even when they saw the chaos in the apartment or the blood on the bed and the floor. They worked in total silence.

Eve bit her lip as they watched the three on screen taking off their backpacks and starting to collect Villanelle’s clothing, her weapons from the closet. “What are they,” Elena said, “telepathic mutants? How on earth do they communicate?”

Eve just watched the footage, shaking her head. “They must’ve done this before, whatever this is,” she said. Then she looked at Elena, who eyed her.

“Do you think they were there to kill Villanelle?”

“Possibly,” Eve said. “I doubt they were there to have a nice cup of tea.”

“Or champagne.”

Eve laughed. “Or champagne.”

The recording continued after the three left, and they saw the shadows race through the rooms while days passed by without anyone entering or anything happening at all. When they were sure that they hadn’t missed anything – they checked the logs and the recording twice – they made screenshots of the three’s faces and compiled profiles that they could run through their database back home.

Elena closed the laptop and they laid down on their beds, staring at the ceiling, both thinking. It was quiet for a little while. Then Elena turned on the bed, propped her head on her hand, looked at Eve. “This is not going to stop, is it?” The question was small, but it punched a hole through Eve’s chest.

“I don’t think so,” Eve replied. “Not until we find them, or...”

“Don’t say it.” Elena fell back on the bed. “Let’s go see that tower. My brain hurts.”

….

They took a train back to London early the next day, and Eve barely existed in the gray morning light: she followed Elena over cobbled streets, to the station and into the train before she started to feel like her skin was her own again. The warm croissants – Eve had no idea when Elena managed to buy them but she wasn’t asking questions – definitely helped.

“I’m going to try and call Kenny again,” Elena said after they’d found their seats and put their stuff down. “Seven time’s a charm, right?”

There were a few other people in the carriage this time and as Elena walked out of the coach through the sliding doors, Eve sighed deeply. She’d had no messages, no missed calls, and she suddenly realized that this was the weight of her new life: it was utterly lonely. There would never again be e-mails from Bill with links to cat videos, asking her whether she knew the lyrics to A Whole New World – _no reason_ , he would write, _just curious_. No voicemails from Niko containing the list of groceries she shouldn’t forget to get after work but she still did, no text messages from their mutual friends saying they had such a nice time at the dinner last time and were looking forward to the next.

Her thoughts went to Niko. She worried about him, worried about what their friends might say and how it would impact him. Where would he be? At whose house would he be staying? Would Dom know?

She rubbed her face with both hands. She couldn’t call Niko – she tried, several times, but her fingers refused to dial his number or press ‘call’ – and she hadn’t spoken to their friends in months, felt awkward reaching out to them because it would make it painstakingly clear that their friendship was based on Niko, and Niko alone.

And in every other moment that she wasn’t thinking about Niko, there was Villanelle. She saw Villanelle’s smile, moments before they dragged her out of that meeting room, every time she closed her eyes. And she felt Villanelle’s fingers on her skin still, remembered the look in her eyes that morning in the bathroom, the want that settled itself like a parasite in her body, the urge in her hands to touch Villanelle again. It was overwhelming.

“Worried?” Elena’s voice startled her and her mind scrambled to generate an answer.

“I haven’t heard from Niko,” she said, pushing away the thoughts of Villanelle’s lips to a faraway corner of her mind. “It makes sense. I didn’t expect him to. It’s just… I hope he’s alright.”

“He will be. You had a lot of friends right?”

And Eve smiled painfully, crippled from the appropriate use of past tense. Elena sat down next to her and then, while keeping her face as composed as possible, she said put a hand on Eve’s leg and said: “I managed to get a hold of Kenny. They got him.”

….

The closer they got to the MI6 building, the more Eve started fidgeting with her jacket, her zipper, her bag. She pretended it was because she was going to see Carolyn again, because she was going to put pieces into the puzzle of The Twelve, but she knew it was mainly because of Villanelle. Oh, what was the use of even trying to deny it? Villanelle was somewhere in that building – hidden, and safe, and alone, and _betrayed_ . She grit her teeth. How many days had it been? Five? Six whole days? _Beloved school teacher found dead in own apartment_. Well. At least her headline would be different.

“Are you sure they wanted to see us right away?” Eve ran after Elena through the busy hallways. They’d gotten a visitor’s pass at the entry after security had made a call to Carolyn and the plastic card dangled annoyingly at the end of the key cord around her neck.

“Positive,” Elena said over her shoulder. “She actually said it was urgent. I had to make up a story to explain why we couldn’t be there in thirty minutes, I recon we’ll get to our little visit to Paris later, right?”

“Right,” Eve said.

MI6 was a sterile maze with white plastered corridors that all looked the same. Signs were either not there or so well hidden behind ceiling lights or corners that they might’ve as well not been there at all. After having asked three people, all of them in a hurry, they finally got to the room. Elena put her hand on the handle, looked at Eve. They were both breathing hard and looked a little bit sweaty. “Now,” Elena said, “let’s pretend we’re feeling fresh and relaxed shall we? After all, we just went to yoga together.”

Eve didn’t even have the breath to complain about that lie – yoga? Seriously? – before Elena winked and opened the door. The meeting room was bare, even more so than the ones at MI5, with white walls and a white floor and one black table with five chairs around it in the middle. No windows, no plants, no paintings, nothing.

There were only two people in the room: Carolyn, who looked the same as ever, and a woman with an almond shaped face and blonde, almost shoulder-length hair.

“Oh my god.” Eve stopped dead in her tracks and Elena bumped into her, muttered something along the lines of “what the fuck, Eve?”, stepped past her, saw the woman and froze as well. The moment couldn’t have been longer than a blink of an eye, but Eve’s mouth went dry and her hands started to shake and they didn’t stop even when she managed to smooth out her expression and repeated: “Oh my god! You made it back!”

The woman looked at her curiously.

“Well yes, we did,” Carolyn replied. “Please, have a seat. We have some things to discuss.”

Eve and Elena obeyed meekly, and when their eyes met Eve shook her head, barely noticeably: not a word about Paris, not a word about that woman who was now in the room with them, not a word about that woman’s face on the recordings from Villanelle’s apartment. _Not a word_. She wasn't scared. Normal people would be scared, but she wasn't - she felt thrilled, excited, and more alive than she’d had for five days.

“This is Katia,” Carolyn said. “She was an agent in Moscow who blew her cover to help us retrieve Konstantin from Russia.”

Katia nodded, her eyes still on Eve, who could feel them burn in the side of her head as she slowly turned to face her.

“This is Eve Polastri and Elena Felton. Eve, Elena, Katia has some interesting information for you.”

“That is correct,” Katia said, and _oh_ , the accent was almost the same as that of Villanelle, her voice just a little bit lower. “I was hired to a private security company in Moscow by my Russian employers, who had their concerns about the company’s actual operations. They suspected them to use the firm as a way to conceal illegal training for terrorists.” She spoke fast, very fast, without ever changing pitch or tone. She sounded like a computer. “Over the course of several years, I discovered that the firm’s facilities were, indeed, occasionally used outside of official operations – no logs, nothing – to train certain individuals in hand to hand combat and usage of firearms. The actual training sessions were sporadic and random, and there were about five different individuals receiving training over the course of each year that I worked there.” Her eyes flashed. “One of them was Villanelle.”

It was a lot of information to take in and Eve’s mind was racing to keep up. Katia continued in the same, deadly pace: “When I reported my final findings to my Russian superiors the company was closed and its owners and most employees put in jail. I believe many of them were interrogated, but I was taken off the case immediately after my report and so I never got access to that information.”

“And, as it turns out,” Carolyn said, taking over. “The man responsible for taking Katia off the case was Konstantin. Who is in good condition, by the way, and will be joining us tomorrow.”

“That’s good to hear,” Eve said, finally finding her voice. “I’m- excuse me, Katia, but you- how did you know the identity of these individuals?” She avoided using Villanelle’s name, was afraid that the way she would say it, anything, would give her away.

Katia leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and looked at Eve, amused. “Because I helped training them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading everyone.  
> i'm super tired from traveling so i hope there's not too many typos in this one - also now I need to get my ass out of my chair and exercise a little, those Swedish cinnamon buns were way too tasty


	18. A Waste of Talent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, things are getting increasingly fucked up, if I may say so (which I may).  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter track: [Billie Eilish - bellyache](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBRi6aZJGj4)

“Give me _one good reason_ why she’s not being interrogated. _One_.”

It was the day after meeting Katia. Eve had waited outside MI6 for Carolyn to show up and she had to do all she could to stay sane, not to shout, because she knew that would definitely not improve things. Instead, she repeated what she’d said before, what made sense, tailing after Carolyn who did her best to ignore her: “She might have information that we do not know about. _No one has asked her_. She’s been detained without anyone asking her what she knows.”

Carolyn stopped walking so abruptly that Eve bumped into her, then she turned around looking inexorable. “Eve,” she said, clearly annoyed, “I hate repeating myself, but I will tell you once more: Villanelle will be interrogated, by someone who is trained to do so, _as soon_ as we have Konstantin’s side of the story written down and checked with Katia’s input.”

Eve threw her hands up, frustrated. “That might ta-”

“I want an outline against which we can put Villanelle’s answers,” Carolyn continued, waltzing right through Eve’s complaints. “Because I do not trust a single word that comes out of her mouth, and I would strongly advise you to do the same.” She paused for a moment, dared Eve to resist. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to take care off and I do not need you to tail me through this building – I have security for that, but if you insist I would recommend you consider a change of career.”

She left Eve, speechless, outside the front door of MI6, and most people who were having a smoke outside or on their way to leave or enter the building were eyeing her curiously. “What are you looking at?!” she snapped at one of them, the closest one, before turning on her heels and striding off, embarrassed and angry.

By the time she arrived at their own office she had cooled down a little bit, and the shame had been replaced by the sort of determination that she knew would have her lying awake that night. She walked up the stairs, her brain racing, then opened the door to find Kenny and Elena sitting together behind Elena’s desk. They started at Eve’s sudden appearance.

“Kenny!” Eve was surprised at how happy she was to see him – not like she’d expected to not be happy at all, but she hadn’t thought that she would feel so relieved, as if seeing him sitting there in that lousy office suddenly made the place feel like home. He got up from his chair, smiling, and Eve noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his face that she didn’t think were there before. He put out a hand, which she looked at, and then ignored by hugging him instead. “It’s good to see you,” she said, stepping back, her hands on his arms.

“Yeah,” he replied, and his voice was hoarse. “It’s good to see you, too. I… I was just checking the footage with Elena, and hearing about Katia and that attack in your house…” he seemed to struggle finding the words. “I’m… I- What I’m trying to say is, I’m really happy to see you, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Kenny,” Eve said. “That means a lot.”

He nodded, suddenly awkward again, and Eve let go of his arms. “So,” she said. “Any updates?”

“Absolutely,” Elena said, grinning.

“That’s the first good news of today,” Eve sighed, taking off her coat and hat, stuffing her scarf down the arm of the coat. “Carolyn basically took a huge dump on me outside MI6 for everyone to see and I think my fingers froze a little on the way here.”

“Well, this is surely going to get you fired up.” Elena looked smug. “We got a lead on our third man. He appeared once in a newspaper article, here, look...” she turned the screen so Eve could see. There was a blurry picture with many different people on it, but Elena had zoomed in on one in the back. “I wasn’t sure it was him, but Kenny got the hit through this facial recognition software, and the match is 95.8% certain. This picture was taken at an anti-fascist demonstration last year in Stockholm.”

Eve squinted at the screen, at the pixels that made up the man’s face. “What was he doing there?”

“Hard to say, exactly,” Elena said. “But one of the main speakers at the event was found dead minutes before she was supposed to have her speech. She was killed in the dressing rooms, the guy responsible for guiding her to the stage found her with her throat slit in her make-up chair. It was pretty nasty, I saw the police report.”

“Elena, Kenny, you’re brilliant.”

“We know.”

“And do we have a name for our guy?”

“Not yet,” Kenny replied. “Like Villanelle, his face is not on record. I doubt we can find him unless we get something else to go on.”

“Hmm.” Eve bit a fingernail. “What about Villanelle? Anything?”

Kenny and Elena exchanged a glance. “She’s still in MI6,” Elena said. “But...”

“We can’t find out where she is.” Kenny looked troubled. “Technically, I could. But hacking into classified information at MI6…”

Eve shook her head. “No, let’s not. At least for the time being.” She ignored the look of distress on Kenny’s face at that future possibility. “And she didn’t get any visitors?”

“Not that we know of,” Elena said. “But, then again, our information is limited.”

“Shit.” Eve put a hand through her hair, rested it against her forehead. “It’s my fault she got locked up.”

“Well, yes, in a way,” Kenny said, “but I’d say that murdering people is a good reason to end up in a cell, at one point or another.”

Eve looked at him and she knew he was right, she knew. She couldn’t explain to him why it felt so wrong that Villanelle was behind bars – aside her blatantly ignored human right to a fair trial. It was like putting a tiger in a cage, it was... such a waste of talent. It made Eve shiver. She set her mouth. “I think it’s time I paid our favorite Russian a visit,” she said.

….

“How did you get my address?”

She arrived at Konstantin’s safe house early in the evening and it was snowing – not the type of fluffy, white snow, but the kind of wet horror that clogs the streets and seeps into your shoes like brown slush puppy. The house was shabby, some of the windows were cracked, but it was a house. The guards let her in when she showed her outdated MI5 card. It was kind of ironic, Eve thought, that Konstantin got a safe house while Villanelle was thrown into a cell. For all they knew, Konstantin was a larger player than he let on, and Villanelle merely a pawn in a bigger game that she wasn’t even actively playing.

“It’s not exactly classified,” she replied, and she stepped through the doorway when he moved aside to let her in.

“Please take off your shoes,” he mumbled, closing the door behind her. She obliged, took off her coat, hung it over a chair. The room was barren, Spartan almost, with a single bed and a night stand and a little table with two chairs. There was a cup with coffee and a newspaper on the table and in the far corner, next to a fortified window, was a small closet. “Cozy place you got here,” Eve remarked. Konstantin shrugged.

“It could have been worse.” He looked at her. “I could’ve been in a cell.”

Eve’s mouth twitched. “Yes, you could have.”

He spread his hands. “Tell me, to what do I owe this visit?”

Eve took out a folder from her bag, put it on the table over the newspaper. “There’s some information I’d like you to take a look at,” she said, a hand on the folder still. “Shall we sit down?”

“Sure.” He took a chair and Eve sat down on the other one, careful not to sit against her wet coat hung over the back. Then she opened the folder and took out the three profiles they’d made, spread them out over the table like a dealer at a casino. She watched his face carefully as he saw the pictures, the information, the names, and then looked up at her. “What am I looking at?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Eve replied.

He waved at the profiles. “I’ve never seen these people in my life. Who are they supposed to be?”

Eve sighed. “I’m sure one of them would be very sad hearing their former boss didn’t even recognize them anymore.”

He looked at her intensely, then shrugged again, as if weighing off his options. “She can file a complaint through official channels, if she wants to.”

Eve smirked. “So it’s the woman, eh?” And she leaned back triumphantly, against the wet coat, and started as the coldness went right through her blouse. Konstantin cursed under his breath, didn’t notice Eve’s discomfort.

“So what if it is? I already gave you that information about Carolyn, and I only did because I thought I was going to die. I don’t owe you anything else.” He folded his hands on the table, raised a brow, waiting for her next move.

“I know it was you who tipped Villanelle off about our arrival, the other day,” Eve retorted, her voice cold. “You thought I didn’t notice? She’d only just left when we got the flat, and I know you’ve been in contact with her. Actually, I know that you’ve been seeing her a lot over the course of the past four years. She has a very nice apartment in Paris, right? Great couch.”

He chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous.”

“That you know where she lives?” Eve didn’t skip a beat. “You bet. I’ve been searching for her for almost three years.”

He looked at her. “What are you trying to get out of me here, Eve?”

She paused for a moment. What _was_ she trying to get out of Konstantin? A confession? A heartfelt breakdown, owing up to his transgressions? The role he’d been playing with or for The Twelve, details about his relationship with Villanelle, details about Villanelle’s life, her history, her past…

“I want to know what they’ve got on you,” she said eventually. “Your record with the Russian intelligence is impeccable. God knows you got it on with Carolyn back in the days,” his brows rose a little bit, “but you’re a good employee and you’re loyal to your country. Which leads me to question...” she leaned forward over the table. “Why are you working for them?”

He was quiet for quite some time, wrung his fingers. Then he sighed. “I think this conversation is over.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “I’m not feeling well. You remember I was shot, right? That has a tendency to leave people a little sick, and like I said, I don’t have to answer to any of your questions. You can come back next time for a formal interrogation, with a signed permit from Carolyn.” He looked her over. “I only let you in because I felt bad leaving you out in the cold.”

Eve grimaced, tried to find a proper response when her phone rang. She kept looking at him when she picked it up. “Hello?”

“Eve?” It was Elena. She sounded worried, very worried. “Have you heard anything from Niko today?”

Eve’s eyes grew wide and a hole opened up in her stomach, expanded, ate all her intestines until only her heart was left beating in the cavity of her chest with loud, obnoxious thumps. She couldn’t reply, didn’t trust her voice, couldn’t give anything away to Konstantin who was looking at her curiously. Elena continued: “Maxim and Sofia- We… They were found murdered outside your house.” Her voice trembled. “We think Niko’s been taken.”

“How do you mean, _we think_ \- how sure are you?” Eve tried to ignore Konstantin’s questioning gaze, tried to avoid falling into the pit below her feet, flames licking at her heels.

“There was a note on the kitchen table,” Elena said, sounding desperate. “Eve, I think we shouldn’t be having this conversation on the phone-”

“Fuck that,” Eve breathed hard. “Tell me what it said.”

“Your lover for your husband,” Elena replied. And Eve coughed, choked on the audacity of the request, on its absolute power, on the fact that there was no choice for her in this scenario. The move was nothing short of brilliant.

“Thank you,” Eve said, her voice thick. “I’ll get back to you, Elena.” And she hung up. Konstantin’s brows were high up on his forehead as he waited for her to say something. Eve cleared her throat, tried to compose herself, ban tears from her eyes. “I'm done playing games, Konstantin,” she said, and the edge to her own voice terrified her. “I need you to get Villanelle out of MI6.”

He blinked. “What?”

Eve’s lips trembled. “I need you to free Villanelle.”

Konstantin barked a laugh, leaned back in his chair. “Are you serious?”

“I told you,” Eve said. “I’m not playing games.”

He exhaled, rubbed a hand over his head. When he looked back at her his expression was serious. “What do you need her for?”

The question was surprisingly thoughtful. Eve returned his gaze with the same intensity, said: “She ended up in that cell because of me. She’s been there for almost a week without anyone telling her what is going to happen to her, asking her about her side of the story, and without knowing how much longer she’ll be there.” Her voice trembled. “She’s not innocent. Far from it. But this is not right. Carolyn is trying to cover something up and I’m not going to let her take Villanelle down as collateral damage.”

Konstantin’s lips set. “Let’s say that I agree to do that for you. Which I’m not planning to, by the way. But what would you have me do? Waltz into MI6 and take her out with me?”

Eve nodded, folded her hands in front of her on the table to prevent them from shaking. “That is exactly what I want you to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH PEOPLE this story is killing me  
> I should've called it KILLING DISCOTITS, for crying out loud.  
> Any thoughts on where this should be going?? (joking, I have an idea, you know. Sort of. Interested in your perspective!)


	19. Hardly More Than a Landing Strip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter than usual, sorry folks (I'm not reallyyyy sorry)  
> Chapter track: [LUWTEN – In Over My Head II](https://youtu.be/E334UbwXTNA)  
> (do give the track a listen, it's a live version with 14(!) musicians, pretty damn awesome)

There was a set of clothing for her in the employee kitchen where Konstantin dropped her off, saying he needed to check one last thing before they could leave. She wasn’t sure she was completely okay with what was going on – some part of her brain still thought this was a dream and that she would wake up soon, back in the sugar cube – but she also saw she had little choice. If she wanted to get out of this place, and she did, she knew her best shot was to follow along obediently.

She changed quickly. Next to some clean underwear, the set consisted of black trousers, boots and a dark blue turtleneck sweater – a rather surprisingly fashionable outfit, coming from Konstantin. She frowned while tying her laces. It wasn’t just surprisingly non-Konstantin, it was actually  _very_ unlike him. She sniffed. Someone was helping him, and by the looks of the clothes she didn’t think Eve was a likely accomplice. 

Eve… Her thoughts went back to their night together and she leaned with her back against the kitchen counter, waiting for Konstantin to return. She bit her lip, remembering how Eve had sounded, how she’d felt under Oksana’s fingers, how her face had looked moments before… Oksana sighed, rubbed her face. She probably shouldn’t have had sex with her, she knew that, just as she knew where that worried look on Konstantin’s face had come from earlier. She’d seen it before, he’d said it before: he was worried that she wouldn’t be able to do her job if she was this…  _distracted_ . What had the word been –  _fixated_ , yes, Anna had called her fixated, and the psychiatrist had used the term obsession, which she liked even less.

She bit her lip. Was she distracted? She didn’t manage to kill Eve’s husband – then again, she wasn’t really good at long-term plans, there were too many unknown variables and too many others in the mix to make accurate predictions. But she didn’t have to stretch it out like this. She could’ve just laid low and waited for an opportunity to strike, much like she usually killed her targets. But somehow, whenever Eve was involved, she kept messing things up. Eve made her blood boil too much, made her lose her cool. She stretched, closed her eyes. Yeah, she understood why Konstantin was worried.

Then the door opened. Konstantin was there, holding a warm coat and a beanie. “Let’s go,” he said, and Oksana smiled. 

They walked out of MI6 without anyone stopping them. Oksana’s heart was beating in her throat with excitement as they passed through the barred gates, through the sliding doors, into the cold. She couldn’t help the smirk that spread out over her face at the boldness of the move: here she was, high-profile suspect, strolling casually out of the building like she’d just been a visitor. Outside, a black car was waiting for them, and they got in – Konstantin in the front, and Oksana in the back. They drove off, and Konstantin turned around in the passenger’s seat. “Are you okay?”

She frowned. “Yes,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looked at her without saying anything, then turned away from her, leaving her puzzled. Outside the car, dark streets passed by in a flash. In the yellow street lights, London looked even colder and unwelcoming than by day, and the browned snow that covered the sides of the roads and the pavements made everything dirty and messy. God, she needed some sunshine. Malaysia, maybe? She liked the beaches there, and the sensation of being the only one on an island with white sand and deserted shorelines.

They drove for quite a long time, leaving London behind them and heading into the countryside. Here it was very dark, save for some little towns they passed. They didn’t use the motorway, stuck to provincial roads enclosed by stone walls overgrown with poison ivy. When the car stopped outside a small airport – or, well, airport, it was hardly more than a landing strip – it was early in the morning and the sky turned a pale pink in the East.

Konstantin turned around again and handed her a small backpack. Judging by its weight, there was a gun in it, but he didn’t let her open it. “Hold on to that,” he said, and then he was quiet for a while, just looking at her.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Oksana said eventually. She’d seen that in a movie once, in a scene that was oddly similar to this one. One of the characters had died soon after. 

A smile passed his face briefly. Then he suddenly stretched out a hand and put it against her cheek. 

“Let’s watch a movie together soon, eh?” He said. And then he removed his hand, got out of the car and opened her door. Oksana started feeling very troubled, got out hesitantly, the backpack in her hands. 

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s do that. Any suggestions?”

He pursed his lips. “The Titanic? Irina loved that one.”

Oksana rolled her eyes. “She’s such a sentimental kid.”

Then she noticed a figure walking towards them from the landing strip. Konstantin followed her gaze. “Ah,” he said. “That’s your ride.” And then, looking back at her, he added, in Russian: “Take care of yourself, Villanelle.”

Before she could respond, he’d gotten back into the car, which drove off almost immediately. The bad feeling in her stomach grew heavier as she saw them disappear into the dark road, and she waved halfheartedly at the tail lights. When she turned back to the landing strip, the figure had gotten closer, and she recognized Eve with a start.

God, she hated how much her body responded to seeing her – the sweaty palms, the racing heartbeat, the dry mouth. She licked her lips, suddenly unsure of her posture, and decided to put the backpack on before Eve could ask questions. 

She stopped a few yards away from Oksana. “Villanelle,” she said. 

“Eve.”

They stared at each other. This was not what Oksana had thought their meeting would look like. Bad memories from her time with Anna forced themselves to the surface and she had to swallow hard to push them back down.

“We don’t have much time,” Eve said. “The plane is leaving in a few minutes.”

Oksana’s brows shot up. “A plane? For me?”

“For us, yes,” Eve replied. Oksana eyed her. 

“Did you know?” The question had to come first, she wouldn’t take a single step before she knew the answer, it burned on her tongue. “Did you know they were going to take me?”

Eve breathed hard, Oksana saw. The wind tugged at their clothes. “No,” she said eventually, and Oksana recognized the thickness to her voice as sadness, which was very confusing. “I didn’t know they were going to… to put you in a cell.” She took a step towards Oksana. “Please, Villanelle. We need to go.”

Oksana took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “Lead the way.”

She followed Eve’s billowing coat through a door in the fence around the landing strip, then onto the concrete. There was indeed a small propeller airplane waiting for them, engines already running, and Eve’s hair blew around in the wind. This was not going to be a very comfortable journey, Oksana knew. She took a seat in the aircraft next to Eve, and the pilot – a rather anonymous guy with a weak mustache – turned around and said something to Eve that Oksana couldn’t hear through the sound of the engines. Then Eve closed the doors, strapped herself to the chair and beckoned Oksana to do the same – it was a little uncomfortable, the backpack still on, and she felt the outline of the gun on her spine, but she obliged. Hopefully the safety was still on. 

They took off and Eve handed Oksana a set of headphones. The wind tugged at the aircraft, they were swung around in the nothingness of the sky, shook so hard that Oksana thought her bones would relocate in her body. 

She had no idea how long the flight took – she didn’t have a watch, or a phone, and she couldn’t read the clock on the cockpit dashboard – but at one point Eve took out prepackaged sandwiches from her bag and offered Oksana one. She took it thankfully, suddenly noticing her own hunger, and she realized that it must’ve been quite some time since her nightly dinner with Konstantin. 

“Where are we going?” They’d been in calmer skies for a little while now, and Eve looked a little less pale than before, which was probably a good sign. 

“Amsterdam,” Eve replied. Her voice was metallic through the headset, and she was shouting – she’d probably not used these sets before. 

_Amsterdam_ . She’d never been – after leaving Russia, most of her jobs had been in the East of Europe, and the capital of The Netherlands hadn’t really been on her list of places to visit. Dutch was a horrible language, full of guttural sounds and consonant combinations that were almost impossible to pronounce, and the weather was usually shit. Nope. 

“What are we going to do there?” She leaned in towards Eve who almost immediately backed away from her. The knot in her stomach intensified. More flashbacks to Anna came up like bile in the back of her throat. Then Eve suddenly put her hand on Oksana’s, her fingers warm and a little bit sweaty. She squeezed her hand and looked at her, and Eve’s eyes spoke volumes – if only Oksana understood their language.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. What's Eve's agenda, huh??  
> I'm so conflicted about what Villanelle's relationship to Eve should be. Oh boy.  
> Hope you enjoyed reading :)  
> Also, disclaimer, I'm Dutch myself, so you know where those Nasty Things About The Netherlands are coming from, teehee


	20. I'm Not For Trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Grieg, Solom Grey’s Paradise Lost Remix – Peer Gynt (Death of Aase)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4kzofWOxDk)  
> Also teeny tiny do not read at work warning

The landing woke her up – they dropped through the clouds, bounced on the asphalt and skidded to a halt. It was raining, a steady drizzle coming from a uniform gray sky, yet Oksana had to squint her eyes against the light when she got out of the aircraft. It had been a while, she realized, since she’d been outside during daytime. Eve didn’t look much better than Oksana was feeling – she wobbled down the aircraft steps unsteadily, and still looked a bit greenish in her face. 

“Fuck I hate flying,” she muttered. Then she turned towards the pilot, who came out after them. “Thanks for taking us.” 

He tapped his head with two fingers. “Pleasure was all mine. Hope it wasn’t too rocky for your taste.” 

Oksana snorted. Eve laughed uncomfortably. “It was alright.”

They left the airport – another miniature landing strip – and Oksana had never seen a country this  _flat_ . The only thing that interrupted the horizon was a line of trees, and she could see wind turbines in the distance. “Is this Amsterdam?” She was puzzled.

“No,” Eve said, and she took out her phone, oriented herself. “We need to take a train. And a bus, first. There,” she pointed at a sign saying ‘airport bus’. Oksana followed Eve, and she quietly enjoyed having Eve take the lead. It was refreshing, and she was tired from fighting with her memories from puberty outside Moscow. 

The bus took them through this strange flat country with green pastures and creeks and more wind turbines. Eventually they arrived in a small town, and they got off next to a glass-covered train station. Considering the poor weather, there were quite a few people and the train was packed. “Thank god all the ticket machines were in English,” Eve said as they got a seat. She’d bought something at the station, too – a bag of crisps, two bottles of water, and two of those triangle shaped factory sandwiches. She handed half of it over to Oksana. “You’re awfully quiet, by the way.”

Oksana raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Eve smiled tiredly. “Who else? My alter ego?”

“Do you have one?”

“That’s- it was a joke.”

“Oh.” Oksana pursed her lips. “I’m thinking about high school,” she said. She opened the bottle of water, took a few sips. “It is exhausting and I don’t like the memories.”

Eve eyed her. Then, after some silent seconds, she asked: “Because of Anna?”

Oksana shrugged, slouched in her seat, put her feet into the pathway. “She used to mean a lot to me,” she said, disinterested. “But I’m starting to understand that I didn’t mean the same to her. For her, everything we did always was wrong, everything we shared a mistake.” She looked at Eve. “I didn’t understand why she said those things, it wasn’t wrong for me.”

Eve nodded. Then they were silent for a long time, eating their sandwiches, drinking the water. Oksana looked at the other travelers, studied the way their faces looked when they said things to each other, how their bodies moved.

“Did you kill her?” Eve’s voice was quiet, barely audible over the engaged conversation from the people in the seats in front of them.

Oksana shook her head. “No,” she said. “She shot herself. But I would have, otherwise.”

“Was that...” Eve bit her lip. “Was that difficult for you?”

“No.” She didn’t have to think about that. “Why would it be? Like I said, she meant a lot to me, but not anymore. And she hurt me the last time we were together before…” her voice failed her. She took a breath. “Before I was sent to prison.”

Eve looked at her. “She hurt you?”

Oksana cocked her head. “Well, not physically. It’s not like she stabbed me or anything.” She put a little emphasis on the verb, saw the small wince on Eve’s face. “But she said I was mad, and evil, and she called the police. She betrayed me.” She saw Eve swallow, looked at her curiously. “How does knowing that make  _you_ feel?”

“Me?” Eve’s voice was hoarse. 

“No, your alter ego.”

Her laugh was a welcome sound. “It makes me feel very sad,” she said eventually. 

“Why?” Oksana was all ears. People could be fascinating, if she wanted them to be, and so hard to understand. She thought that maybe she could learn a thing or two from Eve this way, understand why sometimes people suddenly were sad or angry with her, understand how she could make people feel a certain way.

“Because...” Eve thought a long time before continuing. The train sped steadily through an urban area, trails of raindrops on the windows. “Because I wish those things hadn’t happened to you. Because… Because I think that you didn’t deserve to grow up like that. Because you deserved to be loved unconditionally.”

Oksana suddenly had trouble breathing. There was lump in her throat that she couldn’t swallow away, even though she tried several times. Eve looked at her, a serious expression on her face. “I wish I’d found you before all of that happened.”

Then the train slowed down. The PA system buzzed and a woman’s voice said something in Dutch, then repeated it in English: “We’re now approaching Amsterdam Central station. Please make sure to take all of your personal belongings with you when you leave the train.”

Eve put a hand on Oksana’s knee. “Let’s go,” she said.

….

Amsterdam was a pretty beautiful city, Oksana had to admit. There were too many people for her taste, most of them tourists – she heard  two guys discuss weed in Spanish ,  a woman talking on the phone in  Italian,  two girls slurring at each other in  English, German  tourists, barely any Dutch actually – but the architecture was impressive. And she liked the canals, they were cute.

She followed Eve, who was following her GPS, through the crowd s at a murderous pace. She barely had the time to check the environment, check for people who might be tailing them, but if she was honest she did it only halfheartedly – she was curious to see what was going to happen and strangely excited. She liked having Eve make decisions. “This is it,” Eve said suddenly. There were fewer people here, the buildings tall and the street narrow. It was a small hotel, barely recognizable as being a hotel if not for the small banner just outside the door. Oksana raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?”

Eve didn’t reply, just opened the door and went inside, and for a brief moment Oksana considered running away – just turning around and leaving her, she’d be gone before Eve would even notice that she left, she knew she could. But she didn’t. Her feet took her through the door and inside a dark lobby, if you could call it that. There was a tiny desk and behind it was a n even  small er man who was talking with Eve. He looked up at her.

“Two rooms?” His voice was much lower than Oksana’d expected from a man his size. 

“No,” she said before Eve could open her mouth. She leaned onto the desk. “One room, double bed, _please_.” She smiled friendly at the man, who didn’t bat an eye at the request and got a key for them. Eve’s facial expression was much more enjoyable. Oksana took the key and the man said: “it’s up the stairs, to the left.”

“Thank you so much!” She locked an arm with Eve, made another one of her friendly faces at the man, and then took Eve up the stairs. 

“That was not-”

“Oh come on, Eve.” Oksana squeezed her arm. “Don’t be such a prude.” She looked at Eve, who was actually sulking a little bit, and she added: “it’s going to be cold tonight. You’ll be happy I’ll be there next to you.” She grinned. “Okay, and there might be other reasons to enjoy sharing a bed with me. I can sing bedtime songs pretty well, you know.”

“Villanelle...”

“What?” They’d arrived at the room. Eve looked away from her. 

“We need to talk.”

Another movie scene came to the front. Actually, several, and none of them ended well.  Oksana cocked her head. “I didn’t know you were into wordplay, but, sure. I can rock that.”

Eve pinched the bridge of her nose. “Give me that,” she said, and she took the key from Oksana, opened the door to their room. It was small, and dark, and the bed was double, sure, but far from comfortably large for two people. The windows needed cleaning and the curtains were from a heavy, dark green fabric. 

“Villanelle,” Eve said, as Oksana entered and closed the door. “We’re not here to have sex.”

Oksana rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips. “O-kay. Sure. What are we here for, then?”

“We’re here because The Twelve have Niko.”

She waited a little moment before answering, unsure what Eve wanted from her.  “So?”

Eve took a breath. “They want me to trade you for him.”

Oksana frowned. “Trade me?”

“Yes.” Eve’s voice was hard. “They have Niko, and they told me they will give him back if I give you to them.”

“Ah.” She was quiet for a while again, and then she added: “I’m not for trade,” slightly annoyed, slightly puzzled. 

And Eve looked at her. “I know.”

“Also...” Oksana licked her lips. “I would kill him either way.” It was hard to come up with that, but she realized that she should give Eve a reason to want to _not_ trade her. “Even if you would give me up, if I were them, I would still kill him.”

Eve’s voice trembled. “ _I know_ .” 

It was quiet for a moment. She saw that Eve’d clenched her hands to fists. Oksana frowned. “So what now?”

Eve swallowed, blinked. Then she took a step or two towards Oksana and she suddenly kissed her, kissed her like Oksana was oxygen and she needed to breathe, and Oksana, startled at first, let herself go with it, kissed Eve back, put her hands on Eve, pulled her closer by her coat. “I thought we weren’t going to have sex,” she said, in a spare moment that her lips weren’t on Eve’s.

“I know,” Eve replied, “I should have said ‘we’re not here _just_ to have sex’”. 

Oksana’s jaw dropped. “You’re  _into_ this.”

And Eve took down her hair, looked at her. “I am.” She was breathing hard, and then she said it again: “I am. I’m into this...” she touched Oksana’s face, her jaw. “...all of this.” She traced down towards her neck – her fingers slipped around her throat, then away again, onto her shoulders via her collarbones, down over her arms, and then they were on the hem of her sweater. Oksana shrugged off the backpack – it fell to the ground with a thud – and her coat, and Eve carefully pulled the sweater up over Oksana’s head, almost as if she was afraid she’d break something. Oksana’s heart was hammering in her chest. Eve’s fingers went to the redness of the wound, hovered over it, and then her eyes dragged up along with her hands and they rested on her rib cage, just below her breasts. Eve’s eyes locked with Oksana’s. “I’m into all of you.”

Her breath was uneven, hitched. Oksana reached behind herself and undid the bra. It fell to the ground and took Eve’s gaze with it, resting at her nipples, her breasts. Her chest was rising and falling fast, and she saw how Eve’s mouth opened slightly as she brushed Oksana’s skin with a thumb. 

Then she noticed that Eve was crying. She frowned, puzzled, took Eve’s hands with her own, then cupped her face, stepped into Eve. “Why are you crying?”

Eve shook her head and Oksana kissed her, tasted the salt of the tears, and she stepped back and took Eve with her until she felt the bed against the back of her knees. She sat down slowly, holding onto Eve’s hands as she did so, looking up at her. “Eve,” she said, and everything was in that one word,  the world fitted into it .

“Villanelle.” Eve’s voice was soft, breakable.

Oksana smiled. “Call me Oksana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!  
> Sad to let you know that I'll be a bit busier with a project upcoming weeks, so unless I really have no life this is probably the last daily update.  
> But there will be more chapters, you can bet on that, this plot is not letting me go easily (and I have some prepared for you <3)


	21. A Fucked Up Sort of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Billie Eilish – bury a friend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUHC9tYz8ik) No but seriously this track should be in season 2 somewhere because it is too. Damn. SPOT. ON.  
> Also, yes, don't work while reading. Multitasking is bad, people.

She’d always known that she was slightly… well, calling it abnormal was taking things too far. But she wasn’t normal. She was _out of the ordinary_ . She didn’t especially like having dinner with friends, would much rather spend her evening googling the anatomical details of a murder, the weapons the murderer used, the motivations they might have had. She could hypothesize tirelessly about ways people could be killed, and how you could get away with murder, and what would go through your head when you murder someone. She’d always been strangely _impressed_ by them, murderers. Especially female ones. They did what they wanted to do, against what was expected from them, against what was right. It was a fucked up sort of freedom, and if she was honest, she knew she envied them for it. It made her question, relentlessly, every single time she investigated a murder, if she could do the same. Could she, if the moment came? Could she really?

And oh, how she’d gotten to know the answer – the knife, plunged into Villanelle’s stomach, and that first rush of adrenaline as she realized what she’d done, a surge of that exact freedom – it was almost delirious – followed by the sickening realization of the consequences as blood poured over her hands and a guilt so heavy that it could’ve been the whole worled pushed down heavily on her shoulders. No. She was not a murderer.

No, in that sense she was nothing like Villanelle, who was a role model assassin, a shining example, an epitome of skill and cunning, of intelligence and cold blood. She was like an idol in the industry of killing and Eve was a fan, hopelessly. She wanted to know how she did it, why she did it, how it made her feel. She was nothing short of obsessed with the woman.

She’d never thought, though, that the touch of Villanelle’s skin was something she would want, too. That she would want those hands, that face, those lips – that she would want to have Villanelle look at her like she did when Eve unbuttoned her own blouse. That she wanted it so much that even the memory of Niko looking at her like that did not manage to turn her off, it only put all of it in bleak perspective and made her heart ache with things she lost, things she’d never find again.

No, she’d never thought that having sex with a murdering psychopath would make her feel so…

Ah. So intensely, overwhelmingly, and undeniably alive.

She sank down to her knees in front of the bed, and she undid Villanelle’s shoelaces carefully, took off her boots. There was no time for this, not really, but she decided she had to make time. If not now, then when? If she couldn’t be honest with herself at this moment, this moment where nothing from her previous life even mattered anymore, then would she ever? She leaned forwards, opened Villanelle’s button and zipper, and Villanelle helped Eve with taking off her pants, one leg at a time.

Villanelle – the name stuck – was breathing hard, Eve saw. And as she ran her hands up via her calves, the insides of her thighs, she could see the goosebumps forming on her skin, could feel her muscles tremble, getting worse with every inch her hands traveled upwards. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, she reached the edge of Villanelle’s last remaining piece of clothing. Then Eve looked up at Villanelle’s eyes as she carefully pulled the fabric aside, and touched Villanelle in a place she’d never thought she’d touch a woman, ever, in her life.

Then again, she’d also never thought she’d enjoy it as much as she did.

And Villanelle – she leaned back, put her hands behind her, her mouth slightly open, and then she closed her eyes and made a sound that left not a bone in Eve’s body solid, not a muscle intact. Eve disintegrated into her with every movement she made, and she touched her, and kissed her, and then she was on the bed as well, on Villanelle, skin on skin, and they almost shared a breath, a heartbeat.

“You’ve got talent,” Villanelle said, later. This time, Eve was laying on her chest, her head just above Villanelle’s heart, and she chuckled.

“Thanks.”

“People like to hear that,” Villanelle added. “But I meant it this time.”

Eve hummed.

“Eve?”

“Yes.”

“Were you going to trade me?”

And suddenly Eve became aware of Villanelle’s arms, the way they were positioned right around her throat, and under her ear she could hear Villanelle’s heart beat with fleshy, slow thuds. “No,” she said. And the truth of it surprised her, because, all things equal, it would’ve made sense if it had been the plan. But so few things made sense now.

Now Villanelle hummed, and the arms moved, and her fingers dragged over Eve’s back in a way that should be forbidden by law. “Do you want your husband back?”

Eve thought about that for a few seconds. To her surprise, she heard Villanelle’s heartbeat speed up. “Yes,” she said eventually, and Villanelle’s breath hitched.

“Why?”

“Because he is innocent,” Eve replied. She propped herself up on an elbow, and oh, the parallels to that morning they spent together in her own house. Villanelle didn’t look as if she understood what that word meant, so she added: “He didn't deserve... He didn't deserve any of this. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Villanelle scrunched up her nose, turned her head away. “I think no one deserves to die,” she said. “So there’s no reason in debating fairness – we all die eventually. Some people just go sooner than others. You know, they have a tumor, or they get hit by a car, or they get shot.” She paused. “Or stabbed.”

Eve looked at her. “Okay, I see that.” She thought about how to explain how she felt. “I just… I just don’t want Niko to die.”

“Fair enough.” Villanelle looked back at her now. “Do you want him back as your husband?”

Eve sighed. “No.”

It was unfortunate that Villanelle had an appetite for killing people, she thought. She would do great as a therapist. Maybe in another life.

Then the hotel room phone rang. She froze, stared at it ringing. “Shit.”

“Maybe you should get that,” Villanelle said. “Your mobile phone rang like seven times, but you were kinda busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Eve gaped at her. _Seven times_? “You should have,” she said, climbing off the bed, making her way to the phone while Villanelle laughed, put it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Eve?”

Oh god.

“Niko?”

She was naked, completely naked, with the woman she’d just had sex with laying right behind her, looking at her while she was having this conversation.

“Eve, I’m- they’re telling me you should get moving.”

“Oh my god Niko, Niko, are you okay, did they hurt you?”

“No, they’ve- they’ve tied me to a chair, but I- they didn’t hurt me, I’m just...” There was mumbling on the other end of the line. “You have to hurry, Eve.” His voice was frantic. “Please. Please hurry.”

And then the call disconnected. Eve stared at the plastic in disbelief. Then, slowly, anger started to seep into her veins, pumped through her body with every heartbeat. She turned around to Villanelle, who was eyeing her curiously.

“I want to get these assholes,” Eve said, slowly, carefully articulating every sound. “I want to find them, and hurt them, and kill them.”

….

They hadn’t had a lot of time to make this plan. Barely had any time to go through it, actually, and to have the team get acquainted properly. But, ah, everyone knew each other one way or another. She’d taken Konstantin with her to their office and they’d worked out a way to get Villanelle. It involved Konstantin paying Carolyn a visit, Kenny hacking MI6 security cameras, elevator system and cell door mechanics, and Elena knew this friend of a cousin of a cousin of hers who had a small jet and had always wanted to cross the Canal.

It had been a lot easier to convince Konstantin to join them than Eve’d thought, which either meant that he actually felt warmly towards Villanelle, or that he was playing a very cunning double role and was in it for The Twelve. She had to take the risk.

The note had been written on a business card of a hotel in Amsterdam and that was quite unfortunate. The city center was always crowded and Schiphol, the airport closest to the city, was one of the largest hubs of Europe. All of that made monitoring incoming and outgoing traffic there close to impossible. Despite that, While Eve and Villanelle were risking their lives in the little aircraft, Kenny continued hacking security cameras around the airport and the hotel, cramming their footage through his facial recognition software. If Katia or their Mouse Man popped up anywhere in that location they would know. Everyone knew it was a stretch, but no one said it. They needed something to go on.

Elena marked locations in the capital as potential places to hold Niko, and she’d wanted to contact local authorities but they decided against it: they didn’t know who knew what. They couldn’t risk it. Konstantin, in the meantime, would go to Carolyn after dropping Villanelle off at the airport. By the time of his return, they expected Carolyn to have found out about Villanelle’s breakout and Konstantin’s role in it, and he’d said it was better if he came to her than the other way around. He sounded pretty convinced that he’d be able to persuade her in not throwing him into a cell; he’d laughed, said “I’m just going to tell her the truth: that The Twelve want Villanelle, and that she should see this as a lure she could only dream of”. And, not unimportantly, that way he could be their eyes and ears at Front Carolyn. Solid.

But all in all, truth be told – they had nothing to find Niko. Nothing, except for a city and a lousy hotel.

With trembling fingers, Eve dialed the office. Elena answered. “They called me in the hotel,” she said. “Niko was on the phone.”

“We know,” Elena answered, impatiently. “Kenny has been monitoring their phone lines. The call was way too short to triangulate exactly, but it came from the Amsterdam area, at least. Also, what on _earth_ have you been up to, we’ve been trying to get to you for almost an hour, we got bloody worried about you.”

“Ah.” Eve winced. “We were trying to get to the hotel. Amsterdam is, eh, very crowded, I got lost a couple of times.”

Elena was quiet for a moment. “If you spent that hour shagging Villanelle I swear to god, Eve, I’m never buying you croissants ever again.”

“Just-” Eve swore under her breath. “Just tell me what you got. Please tell me you got anything.”

“Konstantin just came back, he...” There was ruffling on the other side. Then it was Konstantin’s voice.

“Vlad is in London,” he said, brusquely. “Which means trouble. Big trouble. Carolyn didn’t have the time to receive me, and I’m not sure if she even knows about Villanelle or my role in it, but I saw on her agenda that she’s meeting with Vlad, and Katia, right about now.”

“God fucking damnit.” She turned around to Villanelle, who was almost fully clothed and was putting on her boots again. “What is that supposed to mean? Is Vlad in this?” and at her inability to do something, to do anything meaningful while time ticked away, she felt the panic rush through her limbs. “Oh god, Niko told me to hurry, but I don’t even know where to. Oh my god they’re going to kill him.”

“Relax,” Konstantin said. “Keep breathing. Give me Villanelle.”

Eve put the phone out to Villanelle, who took it and put it to hear ear calmly. “Konstantin! I thought about that movie. Let’s...” Her brows shot up. “Oh. Okay. Yes, I’m listening.” She looked up at Eve, who felt her gaze as she collected her clothing, started getting dressed. “No, we were having sex.”

Eve gave her her most incredulous look.

“No, it _was_ smart, she was way too stressed out, it was that or yoga, you know.” Villanelle winked, got up from the bed, listened. “Okay.” She looked at Eve. “Sounds boring, but sure.” Then she gave the phone back to Eve, who put it to her ear immediately.

“What was that all about?”

“You were having _sex_ with Villanelle? Seriously?” his voice was not accusing, not at all, actually. Just... very surprised.

“That’s- can we _please_ focus on what is important right now?”

“Sure, sure.” He sounded amused. “You’re in the hotel from that card now, right? Go down to the lobby and ask the guy behind the desk where you should go.”

“This isn’t some sort of treasure hunt,” she hissed.

Konstantin sighed. “Eve, you might not have a lot of experience with these kinds of situations, but I do. This is the way it goes. Talk to the guy, and let us know.”

Then he hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and also i would like to thank this story for growing a plot out of nowhere and being delightful material to spend my evenings on


	22. I Rolled His Corpse In Tarp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [El Perro del mar – Breaking The Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xFiODBR_ho)

She followed Eve out of the hotel room and down the stairs. This, she thought, was becoming a bit of a habit: falling into step behind Eve, trailing after that gorgeous hair. She even let herself think that, maybe, very maybe, she could do it for the rest of her life. But, first things first. The husband. Another theme in her life, apparently.

Eve walked up to the desk and put both of her hands flat on the counter. “What do you know?” her voice was louder than usual and Oksana watched her, amused. The man didn’t flinch one bit, just reached under his desk and presented her with an envelope. Eve laughed, but it didn’t sound like her normal one. “Wow, that is _so_ kind of you. _Thank you so much_.”

She ripped the envelope open, read the letter inside and Oksana waited, waited for Eve to tell her what it said. Instead, Eve handed Oksana the letter. A bit surprised, she took it. The text was printed, and in clear Times New Roman it read: “Accompany Villanelle to the Botanical Gardens. Take the subway.”

“I feel like a fucking ten year old at a birthday party that I didn’t want to go to,” Eve hissed.

“You had birthday parties?”

Eve just looked at Oksana, who pulled a don’t-ask-me face.

“I like their style, though,” Oksana said when they were outside. Eve had texted the location to Kenny and was trying to find out where the underground was. “I should try that once. Let them come to me, maybe give them some hints, play a little. Might be fun.” The sun actually broke through the clouds now, and she felt the warmth of it on her skin – god, she wanted to get out of this turtleneck as soon as possible. “Do you think we have time to do some shopping before we- no? Oh. Okay.”

They managed to find the subway, and got on the right train. She was actually enjoying the trip, liked to do some sightseeing, but Eve didn’t seem to be so pleased. It probably was because of her husband, and his imminent death, and such. “Relax,” she said, and she put her hand on Eve’s knee, squeezed a little, like Eve had done to her in the train. “They’re not going to kill us on the way there. Or him.”

Eve nodded. “Sure, sure, I’ll just try to believe that.”

“Hm-hmm.” Oksana craned her neck to look out of the subway wagon which, in contrast to the name underground, was actually driving above ground. “So, what’s the plan?”

Eve licked her lips. “We’re going to go to the Botanical Gardens.”

“Yes,” Oksana said, impatiently. “That much I got. But what are we going to do when we get there? I mean, what are we going to do that they don’t know we’re going to do?”

Eve didn’t respond. Oksana blinked. “You don’t have a plan.”

“Don’t even-” Eve closed her yes, pursed her lips. “This was all very last-minute.”

“Wow.” Oksana whistled. “You _really_ don’t have a plan.”

“I think you’ve made your point.”

“Hmm.” Oksana eyed her. “But you said you weren’t going to trade me.”

Now Eve turned around to face her. “And I’m not going to.”

“But that’s what we’re going to do now, right? Follow instructions? Not having a plan?”

“We’ll improvise! I don’t know! Oksana, I don’t know.” Eve was panting, and she was very red in her face. “I never really do this. I’ve only seen this in movies. To be honest, I’m just hoping that Kenny or Elena will get some heavenly insight and call us before we get there.”

Oksana smiled. “You just called me Oksana.”

“Can you-” Eve pinched the bridge of her nose, Oksana had seen her do that a lot in the last twenty four hours or so. “Okay. _Oksana_. Tell me. What would _you_ do?”

“Phew.” Oksana thought about that for a moment. The subway stopped and several people got off, then others entered the wagon. “I would not go in there. Actually, I would climb the roof via the backside, find out where they are, surprise them at gunpoint and- Eve? Hello? Are you listening?”

Eve didn’t look like she was listening. She turned very pale, a rather stark contrast with the red from before, and she was trembling. Oksana waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Eve?”

“We’re being followed.”

“Oh.” Oksana relaxed. “That’s nothing to be worried about. Happens all the time in these kinds of situations. Keep breathing, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Eve looked at her, and her eyes were wide. “Oksana,” she said. “We’re being followed by _Pedro,_ and _I rolled his corpse in tarp._ ”

Now Oksana’s brows went up as well. “Wait, Pedro- you mean that snaky guy from your house?” She hesitated, squinted. “Is this a joke about tarp that I’m not getting?”

“No, it- it isn’t. He’s- there’s this- it’s a...”

“A what? Eve?” Oksana snapped her fingers. “Letters, syllables, words?”

“He’s standing behind the fat guy with the suspenders. I didn’t want to call him a fat guy but I can’t really think of anything else right now.”

“Okay. I’ll take a look.” And Oksana bent forward and kissed Eve, who pushed her off almost immediately, looking incredulous. “Go with it,” Oksana hissed. “It’s distraction,” and she opened her mouth and kissed Eve again, and this time Eve let her, and okay, maybe she got a little carried away. Oksana turned her head so that she, from the corner of an eye, could see Pedro stand a few yards away from them, just behind a massive man with suspenders.

“Got him.” She hovered in front of Eve’s face for a little while, and her hands were itching, but they were in a public place, and she knew that people didn’t appreciate it if you had sex in public places, and she couldn’t cause a scene right now. So she had to settle with a short touch to Eve’s cheek, a long look at Eve’s mouth, and a bite on her own lip. “When are we going to go back to our room?”

Before Eve could answer the PA system announced the next stop, and Eve got up. “This is ours.”

They got out of the subway, onto the platform. Oksana remembered, vaguely, a similar scenario – ages ago in Berlin, where she had been the one chasing Eve. She saw Pedro exit as well, in the reflection of a vending machine. “He’s probably making sure we don’t have surveillance or anything,” Eve said.

“Which we don’t,” Oksana replied.

“Don’t remind me.”

They walked out of the station, climbed up a flight of stairs. “I don’t get it,” Oksana said. “I shot him. Right between the eyes. How can he be alive?”

“Maybe The Twelve are experimenting with zombies,” Eve muttered. They got to the top of the stairs.

“Zombies aren’t real, Eve.”

She ignored Oksana, looked both ways. “There,” she pointed. It was a large glass building, and the insides of it looked green enough to be a botanical garden. So much for her sneaky roof-climbing idea.

Oksana sighed. “I would really like to have a plan.”

They started walking towards the building and Oksana was painfully aware of Pedro’s zombie following them. He wasn’t even trying to be conspicuous about it, which was a bad thing. Shadowing people should be done secretly, and if you didn’t, that meant you either sucked or knew that you had nothing to lose, that you were protected. She didn’t know which one of the two it was – actually, she hinted a little at sucking, considering her earlier experience with him – but she didn’t want to take the bet.

“Me too,” Eve said. “I’ve been trying to come up with one ever since I sent Konstantin to get you out, but so far, no luck.”

“You got Konstantin to get me out?” Oksana didn’t manage to mask the surprise in her voice. Eve glanced at her.

“I think I might have said something about it being unfair that you were in that cell,” she said. “And that it was my fault, and maybe something about the waste of your talent...” Oksana felt the smug expression that settled itself on her face. “…and that seemed to do the trick.”

“But, wait.” Oksana put a hand on Eve’s arm. “He let me go with you, thinking you would trade me?”

“Jesus,” Eve stopped walking. “Stop saying I’m going to _trade_ you, it makes you sound like some Pokémon card, or something, what are kids trading these days? Wine coolers?”

Oksana had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “I just want to know what we’re going to do next,” she said. “I don’t want to walk into that place without having a plan. It’s not good.”

Eve threw her hands in the air. “Then you come up with one!”

And Oksana thought for a moment. Then she took Eve’s arm and tugged her into motion, said: “Let’s go inside, cause a scene, and maybe kill all of them. I have a gun.”

“You have- Is this a joke?” Eve almost stopped walking again, but Oksana could see Pedro over Eve’s shoulder and he’d gotten way too close for her taste.

“No, I really have a gun,” she said. “Konstantin gave it to me, and he is bad at jokes. But you have to keep walking, Pedro doesn’t like it when we stop, I can see it in his snake eyes. We’re almost there.”

She managed to pull Eve forwards, almost dragged her into the Botanical Gardens, and they bought two adult tickets and went inside. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Eve hissed.

“You don’t have experience with this kind of stuff,” Oksana replied. “Me? Tons of experience. Killed quite a lot of people. Been broken out of prison _twice_ now.” She put up two fingers. They walked into a smaller, darker room, filled with all kinds of climbing plants with thick, veined leaves. There were hardly any people, so causing a scene was off the table, and the air was moist and heavy. “Once, I took out three armed security guards. It was awesome.”

Eve didn’t look like she agreed. Then-

“Eve Polastri.”

They turned around and there was one man, then another, and the next moment they were surrounded. Pedro’s zombie was one of them, and he was smirking when Oksana looked at him. She gave him a nasty look back.

The man who’d called Eve’s name stepped forward. He was old, his hairline had receded and the hair that remained was gray, but his face was oddly devoid of wrinkles. It looked very, very strange. He spread his hands. “And Villanelle. What a pleasure.”

“Where is Niko?” Eve surprised Oksana again by being ballsy at the completely wrong time.

“He is safe, I assure you.” The old man had an extremely smooth, pleasant voice. Oksana disliked him immediately.

“I want to see him,” Eve continued. “I’m not giving you Villanelle before I do.”

Oksana raised a brow at Eve. Giving? _Giving_ ? Trading was bad enough, but _giving_?!

The man smiled. “Fair enough.” He nodded at one of the other men, who stepped forward and presented Eve with an iPad. “You can call him there.”

“Okay, rude,” Oksana said. “Introductions, please? Who are you?” She eyed the man suspiciously. He turned to face her now, and she saw that his eyes were the same sort of milky blue as the ice in glaciers, the type of water that has been frozen for more than a thousand years.

“I am Konstanz,” he said. “It is truly an honor to meet you, finally, Villanelle. Your reputation precedes you, and I have to say, I’m a fan of your work.”

Oksana tried not to look to pleased with herself. “Always nice to meet a fan.”

Next to her, Eve managed to get the connection going, and Oksana could see Niko on the screen. He looked sweaty, and pale, and the light wasn’t exactly favorable for the bags under his eyes, but she didn’t think that that was the reason Eve started crying when she saw him. They exchanged a few words, just a few, before the man yanked the iPad out of her grip. Eve looked up. “Where is he?”

“In a location that we will provide you with,” Konstanz said, “…after Villanelle comes with us.”

“No,” Eve said sharply. “He leaves this place with me, or no one leaves this place at all.”

And Oksana couldn’t help it – she started to think. She could feel the thoughts invade her brain, the doubt her guts, like ants crawling in pathways over her skin, growing thicker with every passing one. Eve had told her she wouldn’t give Oksana up, had promised it, but words were words, and words were empty, and empty promises were only made to be broken. Her heart sped up and she swallowed, clenched her hands, relaxed them again, and she felt the weight of the gun in her bag, and the doubt made her think all kinds of crazy things.

“Miss Polastri,” Konstanz said. “I think you are… overestimating your position here.” His voice started to sound as cold as his eyes. “Even though I have to say that I’m impressed that you managed to get Villanelle here without alarming the British intelligence, you are not in a place to make such demands. In fact,” he spread out his hands again. “We could shoot you, and your husband, and still leave this place with Villanelle.”

Eve was breathing hard, but before she could say anything else, Oksana put her hands on her hips and asked: “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

That managed to get his attention, at least. She continued: “I mean, I’m honored, thrilled, all that crap, but, guys, come on.” She looked at the men around them, relaxed a shoulder, and one of the backpack’s handles slumped off. She pretended not to notice. “We know this is all for show, right? You need my skills, and I actually like working for you. I don’t give a rat’s arse about what your intentions are, as long as you give me my targets and a nice salary.” She smiled. “So, honestly. I don’t get what the big problem is. If you wanted me to drop by for a cup of tea you could’ve just called me, you know?” The handle slid down over her arm and the backpack hung dangerously loose. One movement and it would swing off of her other shoulder.

Konstanz’s face actually looked like he was a little surprised. “You shot the two agents we sent earlier to get you,” he said, slowly. Oksana frowned.

“Eh, yeah? After you sent a guy to kill me?”

Now Konstanz’s brows – which were almost white, and bushy – went up. “We did no such thing.”

Then glass shattered, and suddenly there was smoke everywhere, and the sound of bullets and bodies colliding with the floor, and there were grunts of pain and shock, and Oksana dropped to the ground, swung the backpack off her shoulder, zipped it open and took the gun out in one smooth movement. But then it’d gotten eerily quiet. She could barely see, barely breathe through the thick smoke, put her sweater up over her mouth and nose – perks of turtlenecks – and then she saw Eve, who’d also fallen to the floor, and was looking at her with wide eyes. She ran up to her, staying as low as she could.

“Eve? Eve, are you okay?” She could hear the sound of footsteps, booted feet, coming their way. And Eve looked at her, and then Oksana saw that she had her hands over her stomach, and that there was blood, and she looked back at Eve’s face, and she understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To compensate for the slower updates, I'm trying to write slightly longer chapters  
> also thank you all for reading, commenting and kudo-ing and for making me smile every time I get an AO3 e-mail!


	23. Up to Her Evil Blonde Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know I'm not supposed to tease you because you're all being so nice to me (<3) but I just finished writing another chapter and I honestly think it's the best dialogue I've made so far so can't wait to share that with you!!  
> Hope you like this one as well.  
> Chapter track: [Rilo Kiley – A Better Son/Daughter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0sy7y54XAE) (very heavy song)

Oh, it hurt.

She’d never felt a pain like this ever in her entire life, never. She’d wondered about it, tried to think of what sort of injury would be comparable – she’d broken her wrist once and she thought she’d die then – but now that she was here, on this wet floor in this damp place, the pain that came from the bullet was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was a nauseating, all-encompassing sort of agony that washed over her like waves.

Then, in the midst of this anguish, Villanelle came running up to her out of the smoke, her face looking as focused and deadly as ever, a gun in her hand. “Eve? Eve, are you okay?” 

And Eve tried to say something, but she’d forgotten how to speak. She clutched at her stomach, felt the blood ooze through her fingers, and she saw how Villanelle looked down at them, and then back to her face. Her expression didn’t change the least, her eyes stared into Eve’s, wide, alert. Inaccessible. 

They were the last thing Eve saw before the lights went out. 

….

She dreamed of Niko. They were in college again, she had just had a lecture on female psychology, and he was waiting for her outside the lecture hall. He hadn’t had the mustache back then, just a stubble all over his chin, and he was holding a plastic bag that contained his lecture notes. She never got why he didn’t use a backpack, or a normal bag, but he said he didn’t really care. 

He kissed her, and she smelled him, something warm and cinnamon-y. “Same place as last time?”

“Sure,” she said. And they walked off, the sunshine warm on their shoulders, and she started talking about her lecture and he listened, hummed at the right moments, put an arm around her waist at one point, and she thought that if this was going to be the rest of her life, it would be quite okay.

….

Someone said something. It was hard to hear what, though – everything sounded like one of those temporary autotuned popsongs. It was kinda whacky, actually. Maybe she should try to sell this, later, when she… When she what, again? What?

She managed to open her eyes and her vision was blurry, there were figures hovering over her, and now she was sure she heard someone talk. Was it  _to_ her, or  _about_ her?

“I am fucking high, folks.” That was her own voice, right? Wait, did she say that, or did she just think she said that?

Her eyes focused – finally – and she saw Elena’s face, and Kenny’s face, and then Niko’s face, but she wasn’t sure if he was really there, he disappeared from time to time, and people are not supposed to just randomly disappear, at least not in reality. So he probably wasn’t real. Then again, Kenny’s mouth opened and closed and yet she didn’t hear him speak, so he was either doing a really good fish impersonation or she was actually high as a kite. 

She felt she was grinning, so widely it hurt her cheeks, and she slipped into darkness again. 

….

The next time she woke up she remembered what pain felt like. 

There were a few, blissful moments, those seconds just after waking up but before being aware that you have – some sort of slumbering, non-existent period of time in which everything is good, and warm, and comfortable, until suddenly it is not, and she remembered the Botanical Gardens, and she remembered the glass shattering, and she remembered Villanelle’s eyes. 

And then she felt the pain. 

“Ah, you’re up.”

She managed to open her eyes and saw Konstantin, sitting by the side of her bed. Of all people she’d expected to sit next to her in a hospital, he wasn’t one. “Konstantin,” she muttered, and her mouth was dry and her tongue felt more like a piece of leather than something that belonged between her teeth. He chuckled.

“Yep. Good old me.” He put a hand on hers – it was above the blanket and connected to an IV, she saw – and squeezed, softly. “It’s good that you’re awake, miss Polastri.”

“Eve,” Eve said, voice dry. “You’re sitting next to my bed, you… you can call me Eve. I recon we’re past the formalities.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, before he nodded. “Alright, reasonable enough.”

Eve sighed, groaned, and Konstantin grunted in agreement. “Definitely not something on my to-do list, either,” he said, “getting shot in the abdomen again.”

“No,” she had trouble speaking, actually. “How… How long…?”

He pursed his lips. “You’ve been out for almost a week.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she tried to get up, but that was a  _horrible_ idea, and she thought she might puke.

“Yeah, you might want to consider staying horizontal for a little while longer.” Konstantin eyed her, and if she’d known him a little better she might’ve seen a hint of actual concern pass his face. “You were lucky, actually. You were shot from the back, and the bullet went straight through you without hitting too many vital things. You would be six feet under if it had gotten stuck on anything.”

“How do you mean, _too many vital things_?” Each word was a torment.

Konstantin weighed off his choices. “You might be down one kidney.”

“Wha- _What?!_ ” The second time it came out more like a scream than an actual word because she tried to get up again. He looked deeply troubled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a terrible joke from my part. Please accept my humble apologies. I wasn’t joking about the bullet going straight through you part, though.”

….

She still slept a lot, it would take at least another week before they expected her to be able to get up and get around a little. Emphasis on little. Kenny and Elena visited her frequently, but they avoided all sorts of questions about Niko, or Villanelle, or Carolyn, except for saying that they were all fine and that she shouldn’t worry about those things right now and should instead focus on getting better.

Normally she wouldn’t have taken any of it, but she was so tired. 

And so she waited, she took her medication, she ate what they gave her, she drank what they gave her, and she had useless conversations about the weather, about Konstantin’s farts – which were, apparently, horrendous – and about the color of the hospital’s bedsheets. She didn’t even know which hospital she was in. A week went by and she had sessions with a physical therapist to aid her in her walking and recovery: he was a kind man with a soft voice who was very patient with her even as she struggled and swore and cried a lot. They also sent an actual therapist for her to talk with, but she couldn’t find the words and so they spent their sessions in silence, mostly, with the therapist looking at her like she understood.

She missed Villanelle so much that it almost hurt more than the bullet wound. And the fact that she didn’t miss Niko that much maybe hurt even more than that.

Then she started worrying. It happened quite suddenly, she suspected that they were cutting down her painkillers and that that explained why the fog of war in her head started to fade away. But as her thoughts became clearer, they became more distressing and harder to ignore. When Elena visited her, sometime by the end of the third week, she grabbed her hand. Elena looked at it, then at Eve.

“Uh oh.”

“Start talking,” Eve said. “I need to know what happened.”

And Elena hesitated, tried to walk away but Eve’s hand was unforgiving, and then she sat down next to the bed. “You can let go of that,” she sighed. “I’ll tell you.”

As it turned out, Carolyn had found out about Villanelle’s breakout almost immediately after it happened: remotely opening her celldoor had triggered an alarm that was sent to her personal phone, she’d probably expected Kenny to be involved with breaking her out at one point. So much for motherly trust. And the bullets that had rained down on them in the Botanical Gardens? They’d been fired by the tactical team that Carolyn had sent, and she’d known to send them to Amsterdam because Konstantin apparently had had more of an active part in her meeting with Vlad and Katia than he’d told them. In a way, they’d been played. Royally.

“But,” Elena said, “the good news is that we’re all on the same side, really.”

“You don’t actually believe that.” Eve stared at her. “We’ve both _seen_ Katia on that footage in Villanelle’s apartment. She’s in it up to her evil blonde hair and you know it.”

“She’s a double agent, Eve,” Elena said, sounding tired. “It’ll take you some time to getting used to the idea, I’m sure – it took me a couple of bottles of wine and a whole night brainlessly laughing to Graham Norton’s show to get adjusted. But it makes sense. So much more sense than believing they’re all against us.”

Eve put her hands over her face. No, she thought. It didn’t make more sense. It was just easier.

“Niko is back home, by the way.”

Eve looked at her through her fingers. “I was about to ask you that,” she said. Elena waved it away. “Does he have security?”

“No,” Elena said, hesitantly. “He doesn’t.”

“But...” Eve felt increasingly confused. “But he was _kidnapped_. He was taken as leverage. They can’t send him home like that, can they?”

“Well...” Elena leaned back on the hospital chair. It squeaked terribly. “Whoops, sorry about that. But, yes, they can, when there is no imminent threat of him being taken again.”

“But The Twelve still want Villanelle.” Eve couldn’t believe her ears. 

“Eve...” now Elena put her hand on Eve’s. It was sweaty. “They already have her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and again, thank you for reading, commenting, liking the story!  
> I'm going to reply to every comment, promise! :D


	24. I'm Not the Man for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [FINNEAS – Break My Heart Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g762BCqtrjg)  
> This chapter contains heartbreaking dialogue. Read at own risk.

She didn’t think it was accident that she’d gotten shot. Not really. It was a little… too coincidental. Her possible, accidental death a little too fortunate. But when she was sat in front of Carolyn – it was the first time she was out of the hospital in almost a month – she had to suppress that thought to the furthest corner of her mind or else she’d launch herself over the desk and straight into that smug evil face. “Eve.” Carolyn smiled. “It’s good to see you up and running again. I heard you were hurt quite badly.”

“Thank you,” Eve said thinly.

“I also heard you got lucky.” This small-talk was unusual and it wasn’t making it easier to stay calm _at all_.

“Eh, yeah,” Eve licked her lips. “I mean, I’ll have a really awesome scar, when it’s properly healed. It’ll do good at parties, I suppose.”

Carolyn smiled some more. It was hugely unsettling. Then she put her fingers against each other and finally got down to business. “Eve, I know that you do not trust me.”

Eve kept her mouth shut. Waited.

“I can tell you that the distrust is mutual.” Carolyn leaned forward a little over her desk. Eve felt incredibly small. “You ignored my instructions, broke out a high-profile suspect, flew her across borders illegally, and involved not just two colleagues but also another valuable suspect in conjuring up the whole… _plan_.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Well, if you put it like _that_...”

“ _Next_ to that,” Carolyn continued. “You’ve been romantically involved with said high-profile suspect. You can surely imagine that I have my reasons to doubt not only your objectivity in the case, but also your loyalty.”

Deep breaths, Eve told herself. Deep breaths. Count to ten.

“Sure,” she said eventually, when Carolyn apparently was finished. “I can imagine that someone who has been _romantically involved_ with not one, but _two_ , members of Russian intelligence, of whom one ostensibly involved with one of the most hidden and dangerous organizations in the world, would be very much inclined to have _me_ put away as a traitor.” She had to pause to take a breath, continued: “I can also imagine that this person, who enjoys a high position in British intelligence, is reluctant to give up any… personal benefits that this position yields, next to her large field of influence, _especially_ when this person has motivations beyond the personal sphere.”

She’d thought about that sentence for so long. Four weeks. It was all in the implications, she thought, all in that what she said indirectly.

Carolyn raised a brow, and then she laughed, shook her head. Eve wasn’t sure that that was the reaction she’d expected. “Eve,” she said. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. You’re smart, and you make insane suggestions. You’ll make a great asset one day.”

Eve frowned. “I’m not sure if I follow.”

“Oh,” Carolyn waved it off. “I mean, you’re wrong this time, but your rhetoric is sound. I recognize myself in you, in your suspicion, your… unwavering conviction.” She reached under her desk, took out a file and put it in front of Eve, kept her hand on it. Eve waited, not sure what she wanted, and Carolyn looked at her intensely. “I promise you,” she said, “that my loyalty lies with Britain, and the rest of the world, and that I intend to sniff out every single member of The Twelve, so help me god. I will never say it again, because I do not need to, but you deserved to hear it once.”

It was quiet. Eve didn’t know if she believed it, but she also didn’t know if it mattered. “Okay.” She heard herself say it.

“Good.” Carolyn removed her hand from the file. “I know you haven’t yet fully recovered, so from an employer’s perspective I need to urge you to only work when capable. But if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve probably been waiting for this ever since you woke up in the hospital.”

Eve reached out to the file, turned it around and opened it. The first page contained a profile of a woman with shoulder length blonde hair and an almond shaped face. She gasped.

“I want you to find out everything there is to know about Katia,” Carolyn said. “And… be discreet, this time.”

Eve looked up at her. “Discreet?”

“Oh, you know.” Carolyn actually looked… amused? “Don’t tell Kenny, or Elena. And maybe don’t have sex with the target.”

….

Overwhelmed and confused, Eve found herself almost automatically on her way to their dodgy office. At least that hadn’t changed. But by the time she’d gotten to the top of the stairs she was panting, and she had to hold onto the disgusting railing to prevent herself from falling down, and she knew that she was only kidding herself: nothing was the same anymore. Nothing.

Kenny and Elena were inside, they were working, apparently. They looked up when she opened the door, and then smiles spread over both of their faces, and Eve felt something inside of her break as she thought of all the times before that she’d been here, and had seen them like that. It felt like she was someone else then, like she hardly even knew that person anymore. Oh Bill, she thought. Oh, Bill.

“Eve!” Elena got up. “Did you manage, you know, with the stairs and all?”

Eve tried to say yes but was still out of breath, and Elena rushed up towards her and actually took her coat off. Eve let her, but only because she didn’t have the strength to resist. “Maybe we should get a lift?”

“Or one of those stair elevators,” Kenny added. “You know, for people in wheelchairs?”

“Oh, yeah,” Elena’s eyes glazed over. She was probably imagining riding it upstairs. “I’d fancy that.”

“Guys,” Eve grunted, “I got _shot_ , I did not suddenly turn eighty.”

Elena and Kenny exchanged a glance. “Is there a difference?”

Eve huffed, sat down on her chair. There was thin, flimsy layer of dust on her keyboard, her mouse, her monitor. She hadn’t been here in quite some time.

“Uhm, Eve?”

She looked at Kenny and Elena, who were both looking at her from their own working stations. “Yes?”

“Are you… Do you...” Kenny stuttered, and Elena took over: “Would you like to hear the details, now? The stuff I couldn’t tell you earlier, because of, you know, hospital, and stuff.”

Eve thought about that for a moment. A part, a tiny part, of herself thought that she could say no. She could say no and get out of it, turn around, exit this life, return to Niko – she sighed. “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

“Good,” Elena said. “I was hoping you would say that. Kenny, the floor’s yours.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay. So, Eve, after you got shot, the tactical team entered the room and arrested everyone they found.”

“Which meant no one,” Elena added, “because everyone was dead.”

Kenny threw her a glance, continued: “Yes. There were three casualties, one of whom was the twin brother of the man who entered your house and threatened to kill you.”

Eve threw her hands up. “His _twin_. Jesus. Of course.”

“His name was _Piedro_ ,” Kenny said. And Elena, chuckling, added: “Piedro and Pedro. Their parents sure were creative.”

“Either way...” Kenny tried to get the focus back. “We’ve been able to identify the other two as well. They were carrying fake passports, but their pictures were available through other intelligence agencies across Europe. They were medium-to-big-size fish, actually. All wanted for several cases of murder across the continent...”

“...but not immediately linked to each other,” Elena took over. “So we put them on the wall as colleague assassins to Villanelle. They might share something that made them stand out, made them attractive to The Twelve.”

Eve nodded. “And Niko?” The question was burning on her tongue.

“Ah, yes,” Kenny said, “they found an undamaged iPad. It still had Skype open, and I managed to trace the IP address of the last call to an empty apartment somewhere in the outskirts of Amsterdam. We found him there, tied to a chair and scared out of his mind, but unharmed and alone.”

“Thank god.” Eve exhaled shakily. “Why wasn’t he allowed to see me, in the hospital? Why did I have to wait for _four_ weeks to hear this?”

“Well...” Kenny scratched the back of his head. “He… He went to see you, a few times, in the beginning. He cried a lot. And… He could’ve visited you after you woke up, but…”

Elena looked sad when she said: “He didn’t visit you because he didn’t want to, Eve. I’m sorry.”

Eve had to swallow against the claw that clenched around her windpipe, the stone that dropped in her stomach, managed to squeak: “I understand.”

“But the four weeks-” Elena sighed. “We weren’t allowed to tell you _anything_ detailed in there. Carolyn was basically up our arses the whole time. I think she’d even suspect the birds perching on the freaking window sills, honestly. But...”

Eve was starting to get a really bad feeling about this. “But what?” She asked, dreading the answer.

“They didn’t _take_ Villanelle,” Kenny said, almost spat it out, as if it was a swallow of hot soup scalding his palate. “She- she left _with him_. Security camera footage showed that they left through one of the glass panels that had broken from the gunfire…” he looked like the next words hurt, but couldn’t stop them from coming: “And it didn’t look like he threatened her, or forced her, or anything. She went out of her own free will.”

_And left you there to die_. He didn’t have to say it, everyone heard the words drop to the floor. Eve swallowed again, this time afraid she might throw up if she as much as opened her mouth.

“And… And it seems like she’s working again,” Kenny said eventually, sounding defeated, and Eve finally knew of at least one thing that definitely had not changed, after all.

“She also moved back into her flat in Paris,” Elena added, probably thinking that it couldn’t get much worse at this point anyway – the proverbial blade was already in, she’d only have to twist it a little. “I mean, I’m sorry for opening your phone, but really Eve, passcode 1-2-3-4? You should change that. But your phone was buzzing all the time, so I had to check, and they were from the Log Lady. I hope you’re not too mad.”

“It’s okay,” Eve whispered. She was feeling a little dizzy. “I think… I think this is enough for now, guys. Thank you. Thank you.”

Villanelle, back in her flat, killing people.

It was too crazy to be true. Absolutely. But at the same time… it was completely expected. The folder of Katia’s profile in her bag suddenly felt extremely heavy.

….

She came home, swaying on her feet. She needed food – deep frozen pizza, in her bag – and painkillers, and then sleep, as soon as humanly possible. While she was struggling to get the key into the lock, the door suddenly opened and she was face to face with Niko.

Neither of them spoke. Then he opened his arms, and she fell into the embrace, let him guide her inside.

Home was no longer the same, either. There were boxes everywhere, the rooms were stripped of all that had been Niko, and that had been a lot. He took her into the kitchen, sat her down at the table and took the pizza out of the bag and into the oven, all without saying a word. She heard him selecting a program on the oven, heard the tap running, and then he sat down in front of her, gave her a glass of water.

She took it from him, drank thankfully.

“I’m moving out,” he said, softly.

“I can see that,” she replied, and she winced at the insensitivity of that answer. He smiled painfully.

“Eve...” he put out his hands to her, over the table, and Eve saw that he was really trying, saw that the gesture meant so much more than what it was. She put her hands in his, they were warm, and large, and familiar. “I have no regrets,” he said. “None. I loved the life we had together.” He looked at her. “And I love you, still. I owe you my life.”

Eve felt the tear roll down her cheek before she even realized she was crying. She wanted to say something but he stopped her. “I’m- I’m almost done. You can say everything you want after, just… may… May I…?”

She nodded. He took a shaky breath. “When I met you in college, I knew you were the one for me. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. I never thought you would want to be with a guy like me, I mean- I played bridge. I studied _math_ .” He put a hand through his hair in a way he always did when he was nervous and Eve smiled, remembering. “The years we’ve been together have been the best of my life, Eve. I want you to know that. And I wish I could say that… that it was you, that _you_ changed, but then I would be lying.” Now he was crying, too. “I knew you were not happy with your life, but I didn’t know how to help you. I couldn’t change myself. It was horrible to see you become a little less bright, a little less yourself, with every passing year.”

“Niko...”

He shook his head, and she swallowed whatever it was that she was about to say. “When you were fired,” he said, with difficulty, “and then started your new job, I saw you become so much happier. I saw you become the person you always were, and it hurt. It hurt so much that it wasn’t because of me, that nothing I’d done, nothing I’d tried had worked.” Now he squeezed her hands and the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I know that our marriage is over, Eve. I’ve known it for a while. But… But you came to get me, regardless. You came for me. And when I saw you in that hospital bed, when I almost lost you, I realized that…” his voice broke. “I realized that I need to let you go. I can’t hold you down any longer. I’m not the man for you.”

The oven beeped.

“Of course I came for you,” Eve said, her voice thick. “Of course. Niko, you mean the world to me. You’ve always been there for me, ever since we first met at that horrible party at Amanda’s, remember?”

He laughed. “How could I forget.”

Eve smiled through her tears. “You were my rock, you kept me with my feet on the ground. I needed that. And I loved you so much.” She heard the past tense come out of her mouth with a shock, saw that he had to process that, but he didn’t say anything, waited for her. “The life I had with you was everything I’d ever hoped for,” she said. “It was the stability I missed growing up, the safe haven, a place to call home with the person I wanted to share it with, _right here_ .” Now her voice broke as well, and she sobbed: “But there was a part of me that wasn’t satisfied. A part of me kept hungry, hungry for something else, something _more_. I thought that working for intelligence might satisfy it, but it didn’t, it got worse, and I took it out on you. You never deserved any of that, and I am so incredibly sorry.”

The oven beeped again. They both ignored it.

“When I heard they’d taken you because of my ties to Villanelle...” it was the first time she’d used her name around Niko, and she carefully avoided the word _relationship_ , didn’t know how much Niko knew. There was a time and a place for everything. “I thought my world fell apart. And I realized that _I_ did that to you. That it was me who kept you waiting, and waiting, while I knew, deep in my heart, that I would never be the person you needed me to be. That I would never be the person you deserved. And then you were taken because of my indecision.”

He cried, bowed his head. She was so tired. “I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Niko.”

“Me neither,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you, either.”

And then they leaned forwards and rested their foreheads against each other, both on their own side of the table, hands intertwined, while the oven beeped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed reading this. Less of an intense cliffhanger to ease your minds and hearts a little <3 Next chapter's in the works!


	25. Heavy Period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Boy Azooga - Waitin' (edit)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZXlBi9TpZg)

She was sitting on a small, plastic chair, in the middle of an abandoned factory. There was water dripping down on the concrete floor through a hole in the roof somewhere behind her, she heard it, a steady _drip drip drip_ . She used it to count the time, it almost fell at the same pace as the seconds that dragged itself around on her watch. This took _ages._ Hadn’t she said he should be there before four? It was ten past four. Did she say four?

Groaning, she got up from the plastic chair and walked to the woman who was duct taped to the chair in front of her. Her footsteps echoed in the large space, she liked the dramatic effect. “This might sting a little,” she said, one hand on the edge of the tape covering the woman’s mouth, before ripping it off in one go. The woman started wailing instantly, and Oksana rolled her eyes, groaned. “Can you stop that horrible sound for _one_ minute?”

“Please, please, I never did anything to hurt you.” The woman was sobbing.

Oksana frowned. “I know. Now, listen. _Listen_ . Did I tell your husband to be here before _four_ , or did I say _five_?”

The woman rocked a little in the chair, eyes closed, mascara smeared over her cheeks. “F-five,” she said, snot glistening on her upper lip as she spoke. Oksana swore. Four, next time.

“Thank you so much.” She wanted to put the tape back, but it wouldn’t stick over the mucus and tears. For fuck’s sake, bodily fluids. Four in the afternoon, next time, and napkins. A lot.

Then she heard a door slam somewhere in the building. A smile spread out over her face, and she grinned, put both hands around the woman's face, patted her cheeks. “He’s coming for you!” she said, cheerfully. Unfortunately, this only made the woman cry louder.

“Anne? Anne?! Is that you?” His voice was faint, but growing stronger.

Oksana felt her heartbeat speed up, felt it thud against her rib cage as the moment of the kill came closer. She licked her lips in excited anticipation, then took out her gun. The woman gasped, turned incredibly pale. “If I hear you say _anything_ ,” Oksana said, her voice barely masking her excitement, “I will shoot him immediately. Do you understand? _Do you understand_?”

The woman nodded, still pale, eyes wide. Oksana smiled, patted her on her head. “Good girl.”

Then she walked to the door, hid behind it, waited for him to find the room. She heard him search through the other spaces in the building, heard his footsteps and eventually even his hurried breathing. Then he saw his wife.

"Anne!" He sped through the door, straight past Oksana, not the least aware of his surroundings. Oksana leaned back, disappointed. She'd hoped for a little bit of a fight. Meanwhile, the woman had started crying silently, and he was telling her that she would be safe now, that she could relax, that he was there to rescue her. But there were loads of tape keeping the woman in that chair - Oksana had almost used an entire roll, she'd gotten a little bit carried away, admittedly. "Oh baby," he said, ripping the tape, using his fingernails, his teeth, anything. And the woman kept quiet, as promised, stared at Oksana over his head while he kept reassuring her that she was safe, and the look in her eyes sent Oksana into a rush that was nothing short of a cocaine high.

This could potentially become a great kill. 

She walked up to them silently, not breaking eye contact with the woman once, padding over the concrete like a lion to its prey, and then slowly but deliberately put the nuzzle of the gun against the back of the man's head. He froze, and Oksana looked at the woman still, pouted. "You were very good," she said. "Very quiet. Bravo."

"Please," the man said. "I never-"

Oksana pressed the gun against the base of his skull forcefully, and he whimpered. "Give me one good reason why he should live," she said, eyeing the woman. "Come on,  _one_ good reason. That shouldn't be too hard, right?"

The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again, tears welling up in her eyes as the confusion and the panic washed over her face. Oh how Oksana loved reading those expressions, those clear portrayals of despair. 

"None? Ahw." She bent over a little, so that her mouth was at the height of the man's ear, and she whispered: "She doesn't love you at all, Jens. You hear that? Not at all." She looked up at the woman, felt Jens shake next to her. "So that means..." she cocked the gun, put her finger on the trigger. "...I can shoot you and she won't even shed a tear. How sad."

And that did it.

"No!" The woman's voice was high, almost like a shriek, like something primal that escaped her, something that came out of her despite herself. And Oksana came back up again, panting, her eyes wide, and she looked at the woman’s face, saw the sheer panic. “I told you to stay quiet,” she said, quietly. And as she saw the realization of her mistake dawn on the woman's face, she smiled. Then she squeezed the trigger.

There was blood – it splattered from his broken skull on her hands, her arms and her face. His body collapsed on the woman’s knees, who shrieked, screamed, trashed while Oksana wiped a little of the blood and bits of brain off of herself. Then she raised the gun and shot the woman as well.

The silence that followed was incredibly welcome. She sighed, watching the woman’s body slouch in the chair, the man’s body on the floor, the pool of blood under them spreading out steadily. No, she thought. Playing hide and seek was too much work, and in the end not that much fun.

….

She flew back to Paris the same day even though they’d booked her into the hotel for another night – she wasn’t feeling it, didn’t want to explore Copenhagen, it was raining and the beer sucked, and there was almost no one out anyway. She just wanted to go home, she was tired.

When she opened the door to her flat she almost anticipated Konstantin to be there, to be sipping vodka from a glass and look at her dubiously. She loved that look on his face. But there was no one, and in the half-dark from twilight her flat looked bigger and emptier than ever. She sighed, closed the door behind her.

She took a bath, a long one, with as much foam as she could make and as hot as her skin tolerated. She considered masturbating, tried, but even that didn’t work, and she got out, frustrated.

The treadmill was a last resort. Her hair was still up from the bath and she was hot, way too hot for this, but there was a restlessness in her bones that wouldn’t go away, that made her even more tired than she already was. And so she ran as fast as she could until she almost puked, the scar on her stomach pulling her skin, and her sweat ran down her temples in small streams, dripped off the tip of her nose. She took a cold shower and then dragged her exhausted body to her bed, fell asleep before she’d even managed to get under the sheets. She didn’t dream of anything.

She woke up because she was hungry, feeling like the wet towel she’d dropped on the floor after her shower. She rummaged through her cupboards, found nothing but a few of very old crackers, swore, put on some random clothes and went outside. The sun was out, and she saw a neighbor collecting his mail. She pulled her face into a smile, but he didn’t return it very enthusiastically – just briefly, perhaps even nervously, before yanking the newspaper from his mailbox and returning indoors.

In contrast, the man behind the counter of the small baker a little bit further down the street greeted her warmly and she smiled again, the best smile she could muster, asked for two croissants. When she paid she saw there was still blood under her fingernails – he saw as well, stared at it a little, and she smiled apologetically and said, as she took the bag with warm croissants from him: “Heavy period!”

She took a walk to a nearby park, devouring the croissants on the way, because that is what people do on their days off, right? The park was crowded – the air was a little warmer, the sun a little higher, the light a little brighter. There were birds chirping in the trees, leaves budding on the ends of their branches, and the people on the paths were smiling. Spring was coming.

It didn’t do anything for her.

Bored out of her mind, she headed back to her flat. She hated how her normal life was no longer satisfying, how the things that she used to do lost their thrill, suddenly became rather dull. Only the killing remained the same, but the rush was getting less intense, didn’t last as long. She needed more to reach the same kind of high, and it left her feeling… _dirty_ , afterwards. _Used_ . Not to mention her new handler, who was a total bore – all professional, no chit chat, no showing up at her house, and he wouldn’t laugh at a single joke she made. Instead, she would get phone calls at the weirdest moments telling her to be somewhere _stat_ , and she’d considered shooting him several times, especially when the calls came early in the morning, but decided against it.

After all, she had to keep up appearances.

She took her laptop, changed outfit into something hipster, and headed to a coffee place that served great sandwiches to do some work. She’d seen people do that – work someplace with coffee, order one drink for the whole day and pretend to do something incredibly important.

The place was a little crowded, nothing much. There were some people with laptops, mostly MacBooks, metal frame glasses and serious expressions on their faces in the corner, each their own table, and she saw a couple or two chatting over cups of coffee towards the window. She went up to the counter and ordered the largest bacon sandwich they had and picked something random from the beverages – the longest name, she had no idea what it was. Then she sat down at her own table, surrounded by succulents and plants with enormous leaves, and she opened her laptop.

She had been writing, the last month or so. Writing down everything that happened after the shooting, back in Amsterdam. She closed her eyes.

Eve. Eve had been shot. She’d found her on the floor, bleeding from a gunshot wound to her abdomen. The irony didn’t escape her, not even in that moment as she felt panic in her chest, as she saw Eve’s eyes roll to the back of her head. She dreamed about that moment a lot – in those dreams Eve died, actually died in her arms, and she would wake up covered in sweat. But Eve had to be okay. She’d heard the boots, heard the people coming, knew that they would take care of Eve. She had to be okay.

And so she’d left Eve there, because in that moment she'd realized something very important. Something she'd never thought about before.

She realized that if she ever wanted to quit, she needed to take down all of them with her.

She’d never really considered ever quitting this job, or this life. But, then again, she’d always thought that she was the ultimate assassin, someone special, someone who could do things no one else could, and she thought she was given targets because she was extraordinary, that there was no one else capable of doing the job. But she started to see that she was only a tool to these people, that she was something rather disposable – a means to an end that she wasn’t even allowed to know. She knew she was being _used_ , not appreciated. An asset on a balance sheet, not applauded. She knew they didn't think she wasn't special at all. And she knew that she needed to know who they were before she could show them how wrong they were.

She’d found Konstanz, surprisingly calm, on the floor next to one of his shot bodyguards. He was bleeding from one shoulder, and his eyes flashed when he saw her approach through the smoke. He had a gun in his uninjured hand, the nuzzle solidly below his chin. She put up her hands, said: “Do you want to leave?” and then he’d smiled, put down the gun and replied with: “I think that is a very good idea.”

And so she’d supported him out of the Botanical Gardens and into a cab – she’d put her coat around him to mask the fact that he was bleeding, and he miraculously managed to keep a straight face all the way through it, well until they were far away from the center, at which point he asked the driver to stop and paid with a card that he asked Oksana to take out of his pocket. He made a short phone call – by that time, blood was actually seeping down his left leg, yet still he didn’t seem the least troubled by it. Oksana had been in absolute awe.

“They’re coming to pick me up,” he said, after hanging up. “And I need to thank you for saving my life, Villanelle.”

She shrugged, tried to sound aloof. “I figured you’re responsible for my job, and money, and I would really like to get those two things back in my life.”

“Fair enough.” He seemed to think about something, then said: “We were not responsible for the attempt on your life. We consider you way too important for that.”

She looked at him, tried to assess whether or not he was lying. He spread his uninjured hand. “There is no way for you to know if I’m telling you the truth, but since you saved my life, consider it my thanks.”

He was right, and even though she felt inherently distrustful of someone with such smooth skin at that late age, she sighed and said: "Thank you."

He chuckled. “I’m glad we could resolve the issue.” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m looking forward to continue working.”

“That is good to hear.” The smile faded from his face. “You will get a new handler. Please don’t shoot this one, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “As long as he's not as annoying as Anton, that should be fine.”

He looked at her. Then he motioned her to get his phone. “There is a car for you not too far away from here, the coordinates are in that phone. You can decide where you want to go, we’ll find you.” He lingered on those last words a little, she didn’t know why.

“I can go anywhere I want?”

“Yes.”

“Also Paris?”

He looked puzzled. “Of course, if that is what you want.”

“One dirty chai matcha latte with soy milk and cinnamon…?”

She started, and the waitress almost dropped the drink over her. “Yes?” she said, not sure if that was what she’d ordered. The girl put the glass down, and Oksana saw a little tattoo on the inside of her wrist – a female sex symbol. She looked up at her face, saw that she had brown eyes and dark, curly hair, and while Oksana stared the waitress put the curls behind her ear, sweated a little.

“What about my sandwich?”

“Ah, eh, that’s- that one’s coming.”

Oksana looked at her blankly. “Good.” Then she returned to her screen and the girl scurried away.

When she came back to her flat it had been cleaned, and ever since the jobs had been coming, and the money as well, and her story was steadily growing out of proportions. Konstanz been picked up by a helicopter – such a dramatic exit – and she’d remembered its registration number, wrote it down in as one of the first things when she came back home. Then she started keeping track of her targets’ occupations, their ties to other kills, the time that she received the assassination request, the codes on the postcards. Everything that she could record.

It was the only way to keep her from going straight back to London. In fact, not reaching out to Eve was the hardest part of her new life, her new mission. And if she was honest, she'd been surprised - maybe even a little bit disappointed - that Eve hadn’t shown up yet. In fact, no one had shown up at her flat since her return – she hadn’t been arrested, her bank accounts hadn’t been frozen, her picture was not hanging on the walls in the subway to warn people. It was like nothing had happened.

It was like Eve was dead.

Oksana took a shaky breath. That thought kept coming back like vermin, like the mice that ate from her biscuits. She pushed it away forcefully. 

Maybe Eve was put off the case, maybe her intimacy with Oksana had - how would they say it professionally - _corrupted her objectivity_. Or maybe she was silently monitoring Oksana’s work, noting down the same things about her kills as Oksana was keeping track of on a notepad, waiting for something. Just like Oksana was waiting, waiting on a moment, a sign, something,  _anything_.

Then the waitress was back. They weren’t lying when they said the sandwich was the biggest one on the menu – her mouth watered the moment the plate touched the table. “Here you go,” the girl smiled. “Enjoy your food.”

“Thank you,” Oksana said, remembering her manners, expecting the waitress to scoot. But the girl lingered, and Oksana looked at her. Her name tag read Johanna. “Why are you still here, Johanna?”

“Oh, well, uhm.” The girl put her hair behind her ear, again. “I uhm, I- I wanted to ask if you maybe had any plans this weekend?”

Oksana’s brows went up. She looked at Johanna again, this time more intensely, thinking she was probably about twenty. “Not yet,” she said, truthfully. The sandwich stared at her from the plate.

“Oh, okay,” Johanna was not getting to the point, not at all.

“I only date older women,” Oksana said, plainly. Johanna flinched.

“Only- oh, but, how- how old do you think I am?”

Oksana squinted. “Twenty.” She was pretty sure.

Johanna blushed. “I’m almost thirty, actually.” It was an absolute lie, but delivered with conviction – the girl might have a little talent. Oksana licked her lips, glanced at the sandwich, then back at Johanna. She put out a hand.

“Give me your phone. I’ll put in my number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This chapter was monstrously difficult to write, there was a lot I needed to get out (plot wise) and so it got much longer than I wanted...  
> Hope you all liked it nevertheless.


	26. It Sounds a Hell of a Lot Like Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to the weekend, people! Sneaky daily update!  
> Chapter track: [Wildhood – Psycho Jam](https://youtu.be/6rc09d1gn-g) (totally the best jam to take a badass walk on, just putting that out there)

It was Friday night, nine thirty, and Eve downed her sixth shot of vodka.

“God-fucking-damnit that stuff is _horrendous_.” She put the glass down with a thud between the other empty ones, resisting the urge to put two fingers in her throat and throw it all out again. Elena smacked her on her back, motioned to the bartender for another one. He obliged without saying anything, just pulled their glasses towards him, topped them off.

“I know,” Elena said. “So is our job. It’s _all_ one big horror, honestly.”

“Amen.” Eve took the glass, Elena took hers. They looked at each other, cheered. “To our fuckjob.”

“Which, by the way, does not involve _any_ fucking, at all,” Elena added, and they downed the seventh one. Eve swore foully, Elena roared.

It had been three weeks since she’d returned to the office. Working on the Katia case without Elena or Kenny noticing had been close to impossible – they kept checking up on her, kept involving her in their social routines, and although one part of her appreciated the effort immensely, another – larger – part of her just wanted them to leave her alone. To let her drown in the work and forget, forget…

Yeah, it had been three weeks, and that meant that it had been almost eight weeks since she’d last touched Villanelle. Eight weeks – so two months since she’d seen her, two months since she’d last heard from her.

The burn from the vodka did more than nauseate her – it infuriated her. Not a single word from that woman, that gloriously beautiful woman who made Eve’s insides boil and evaporate with just a look, that unfathomably talented woman who left Eve to die from a gunshot wound so she could get back to her job.

She grabbed the glass like it was her lifeline. Elena swayed on the stool.

“We should send a team to arrest her,” Eve said, having just a little bit of trouble articulating. “I don’t get why we can’t, I- Fuck. Carolyn can go _fuck herself_.”

Some days she convinced herself that it was better this way, to let Villanelle maybe believe that Eve had died, to let her feel guilty. If she could feel guilty at all.

Elena nodded, her eyes closed, one hand still on Eve’s back. “We shouldn’t get another one,” she slurred. “You’re- you’re fresh out of the hospital.”

Eve pulled a face. She remembered Villanelle, the glasses of cheap white wine on her couch. “You’re probably right,” she said. Then she waved at the bartender, who sighed. On other days she wanted nothing more than to remember, afraid to forget any of it, because it felt less and less real with every passing moment. Almost like it had been a really fucked up dream.

“Honestly though,” they were outside now, and it drizzled. Eve leaned on Elena, or maybe it was the other way around, she wasn’t too sure. “It’s not _fair_. It’s not fair.”

Elena looked at her like she understood, although one of her eyes was not entirely pointed in the same direction as the other one. “I know, girl,” she said. “I know. So… so let’s go dance it off. I know a place.”

And Eve considered telling her that dancing was the last thing she was physically capable of doing – the stitches had only just been removed, and this week had been the first time that she’d managed to get up the stairs to their office without having to take breaks. But Elena was already hauling a cab, and of course it wasn’t like they actually needed it because she managed to get one within a few seconds, and she beckoned Eve to get in.

Then her phone buzzed. “Hold on,” she said, put up a hand to Elena, who leaned on the roof of the cab and said something to the driver that was probably something along the lines of _just ‘cuse my friend over there she’s had a littlebittoomuchtoodrink_ , and Eve put out her phone, held it up, tried to read what it said. It was a text message, and she blinked to focus, concentrated, but the characters danced, and it wasn’t in English either. “Elena,” she said, through the screen of her phone, staggering towards the car. “You speak French, right?”

Elena groaned. “Eve, _come on_ , this guy wants to leave.”

Eve grunted, propped the phone forwards, into Elena’s hands, who fumbled it and almost dropped it to the ground.

“Are you ladies getting in or what?” The cab driver, an angry looking man with a huge beard, stared at them from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, yeah, just a moment,” Eve said, and she nudged Elena, who was staring at her screen like it was the most difficult task she’d ever been given. “What does it say?”

Elena squinted, then looked at Even, then back at the screen, and then she gave Eve the phone, smirking, one eyebrow up. “ _Someone’s_ asking you out,” she said. “Now get your ass into this car. Come on.”

Eve meekly obeyed, got into the backseat, frowning at her phone. She heard Elena tell the driver where to go, and he sighed and put the car into motion. Then Elena turned around. “Okay, so, it said, _Hi Eve, wanna grab a drink tomorrow?_ , and then the name of a bar, I think. But I’ve never heard of the place.”

Eve stared at the message, not understanding what was happening. While she was watching, she saw that the other person started writing. “Oh,” she said, “oh, Elena, oh my god, they’re writing another message, oh my god,” and she put her phone as far away from her face as possible, as if that would help. Elena laughed.

“Let me see!”

“They’re- It’s not- it’s not finished,” Eve tilted the screen a little. Her arm was swaying up and down with the motions of the car, and she was feeling a little sick. She felt the phone vibrate as the next message arrived, and Elena almost twisted her neck to see what it said.

“Oh,” she said, and then she started laughing, and Eve put the phone towards her own face again, but it wasn’t like she’d miraculously learned French in the past five minutes or so. “Oh!” Elena giggled. “It said that they _cannot wait to show you how a young woman makes love_.”

All the blood in Eve’s body rushed towards her cheeks while Elena was still laughing, and she saw that the even the driver hid a smirk in his beard. She put her hands to her face, massaged her temples, tried to get her head to clear up, but she had the feeling that those last vodkas hadn’t even settled yet. Then the phone buzzed again, and she didn’t even dare looking at it, just propped it towards Elena’s head, tapping it against her temple. Elena got the phone, chuckling, and read the message on the screen. Then her brows went up.

“What,” Eve said. “Is it too nasty to say?”

Elena looked up from the screen, a confused expression on her face. “It’s from someone else.”

“What? From whom?”

“I don’t know,” Elena looked back at the screen. “It’s a French number, but the message is in English.”

Eve put out her hand. Elena dropped the phone in it and Eve sat back, put the screen in front of her face, read the message.

_Do you think I should go out with her?_

And while she was staring at it, another message popped up:

_I haven’t decided. I still masturbate about you a lot._

Eve screamed.

….

They didn’t go dancing. Or, well, not exactly. Eve wanted to go back to the office and book a ticket to Paris immediately, but Elena stopped her – in the most physical sense of the word – by falling over her own feet and bringing Eve down with her when they got out of the cab. The fall hurt, and it broke more than her drunken resolve: nothing says Friday Night Gone Wrong like staggering into the hospital at two in the morning because of a broken wrist.

Hours later, she escorted Elena – all patched up and sulking like a little kid – back home with a cab, and by the time she’d gotten back to her own house the morning was poking its head around the corner. Her head hurt, she’d chaved her hands in the fall, and she felt miserable in general. The sound of her front door falling shut behind her echoed through the emptied house and managed to make things even worse.

Eve poured herself a large glass of water, sat down on the couch – Niko’d left that there, even though it was originally his. She sighed, put her head back against the wall, stared at the ceiling.

And her mind betrayed her, her thoughts formed into the shape of Villanelle, the shape of her on a bed, reaching down with her hands, Eve’s name on her lips.

Then her phone rang. She saw it was Kenny, pushed away the thoughts.

“Kenny,” Eve answered, “I’m so sorry, but she’s _fine_ , we fell, it was...”

“What?” He sounded shocked. “Eve, what are you talking about?”

Eve pursed her lips. “Nothing. Continue.”

She could hear him hesitate.

“Kenny. If you call me, you have to tell me what you called me for.”

“Eve, I...” He swallowed, audibly. “I lied to you.”

She closed her eyes, sighed again. “If this is about the fact that you used my roll of toilet paper…”

“I can’t keep this to myself anymore.” He sounded resolute. “Do you remember the note? The note from Nadia that I found on the prison’s CCTV?”

Her eyes flew open. “I do.” She had to keep her voice from trembling as her mind raced back to a different time, a different life, a different Eve.

“It had an address on it, as well.”

She concentrated on her breath, waited, pushed herself up. “Yes?”

“I think...” he took a shaky breath. “I think it’s from Villanelle’s family.”

….

They met up at the office. Eve made one stop on the way there to get a double espresso – she downed it in one go, terrifying the other customers – and then she climbed up the stairs to the office like it was mount Everest and she was the first person there. It must’ve looked like that to anyone else who saw her, because she was honestly still a bit drunk and swayed at every step.

Kenny was already in, chewing his fingernails, and he jumped up when she opened the door.

“Eve.”

“Kenny.”

They stood like that for a moment, both of them looking at each other, not sure where to start. Eve licked her lips. “Why now?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He sighed, and suddenly looked older.

Eve frowned. “Don’t tell me it was...”

“Carolyn,” he said, sounding defeated. “Yeah, it was her. She asked me not to tell you because she thought it would distract you. But- but I’ve been meaning to tell you, much, much earlier.” He swallowed. “But then things moved so fast, and then Villanelle was _here_ , and I thought...” He put up his hands, put them back down again. “And then you got _shot_ , and I just...”

Eve interrupted him. “It’s okay, Kenny,” she said softly. He looked like a puppy, the way he was standing there. Like a beaten puppy. Even couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him, much to her own surprise. Maybe she was too tired to be angry, or maybe it was the excitement of the new knowledge, the distraction it provided to the image of Villanelle, masturba-

Then he stepped forward and hugged her, and she felt that he was shaking. “Kenny,” she said, surprised, and she put her hands on his back, hesitantly, glad that he wasn’t able to read her mind.

“You smell like booze,” he said, a little surprised, when he stepped back, and she laughed.

“Yeah, well,” Eve snickered. “Elena knew this place that had happy vodka hour on Fridays, so...”

“Oh.” He looked a little hurt, and Eve knew she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

“We- we thought we’d do a little ladies night, you know,” she said, trying to make it sound less like he hadn’t been invited on purpose, even though that had sort of been the case. Elena and him? Yeah. Things weren’t exactly working out.

He nodded. “Sure,” he said, his eyes glazing over. It was incredibly awkward.

“So...” Eve coughed, took off her coat. “The address.”

That seemed to help him snap out of it. “Yes,” he said, and he walked up to his computer, moved the mouse. The screen lit up, showing a map with a pointer on it. “I did some digging on the address,” he said. “And I didn’t find anything at first. That’s also why I didn’t tell you, I figured… You know.”

Eve nodded, motioned him to get on with it.

“But then, yesterday evening, while you were…” he waved awkwardly. “I was looking through civilian records of that town, and I found this...” he opened a screen, and it showed a marriage certificate of a certain Veronika Popova, and an Aleksander Astankov. Eve’s heart started beating faster at the sight of that name. “Yeah, exactly,” Kenny said, a look of excitement spreading on his face. “From the date of the marriage I figured they are probably Villanelle’s parents, and I was about to call you about that when I realized that I’d seen that name before…” he opened another screen. “…in the translation of the news article on Anna’s death. Here,” and he pointed at the name _Kristina Popova_. “It said that this Kristina actually spoke at Anna’s funeral. Now, Popov is a rather common Russian surname, but I looked into it, and as it turns out...” he went back to the map. “She lives at this address. And Veronika Popova before her.”

Eve looked at him. “What does that make Kristina?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But it sounds a hell of a lot like family to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the next chapter starting from today, so it might take a little while til I return. But we're getting places people! I know I keep saying that but it's really true. Promise. <3  
> Thank you all for reading, and commenting, and being as deep into this as I am!


	27. A Coffee and a Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow update, had to think about this one, and the press conferences about season 2 are popping up and MESSING WITH ME I WARN YOU ALL ABOUT THEM THEY ARE GLORIOUS BUT EVIL.
> 
> Chapter track: [Sälen - So Rude](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-kzveheBnI) (this is Villanelle's song, honestly. Honestly. Don't believe me? It's called SO RUDE, people. And the rest of the lyrics are pretty spot on, too)  
> Also while you're at it, just take this one too:  
> Chapter track II: [Sälen - Diseasy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EdGEqbwSQ0) And consider it Eve's counterpart, please

She found Konstanz’ address almost by accident. Handler – she hadn’t bothered remembering his name, he was unimportant anyway – had been to the bathroom, one rare occaision that left her unattended with his phone. She took it, traced the pattern that he’d used to unlock it – it was smeared on his screen from his fatty fingers – and it opened on the navigational app, a pointer on a location that she memorized instantly. When he came back she was chewing gum and being as bored as she could pretend to be, the phone on the same place as he’d left it. She saw that he looked at it, and then at her, and she could see that he was thinking, knew what he was thinking about.

“Smart to put a lock on your phone,” she said casually, and she could see by the way that he relaxed his shoulders that he believed the lie. He sniffed, sat down opposite of her.

“You shouldn’t touch my stuff.”

“Well, you should be more careful with where you put it.”

He sighed, rubbed his thighs. She hated it when he did that. He did it a lot.

“They want me to tell you that they’ve been very pleased with you, lately,” he said. She was hardly paying attention, formed the location into something she could remember, put it into a little story. “Your next job will be in a few weeks, earliest. So they gave me this...” he got an envelope out of the inner jacket of his coat. “…And they wish you a happy holiday.”

Oksana took the envelope – it felt heavy. “A holiday?” she asked, slightly confused.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s when you’re not working.”

“I know what a holiday is.” She was getting a little annoyed. He put up his hands, then collected himself and got up from the seat just as the waiter arrived with their coffees. He put some cash on the table, nodded at Oksana and at the waiter, and then left. Oksana watched him leave, then looked at the waiter, who was lingering at their table with the coffees. “You can put those down,” she said. “I’ll have both.”

While sipping through her first cup, she first put the address into her own phone, saved the location. Then she got the envelope, opened it carefully, and found a train ticket to Budapest and a rather extensive flyer for a week-long silence retreat. _A silence retreat_. No fucking way. She had half a heart to throw it all straight into the bin when she noticed the small serial number on the side of the flyer. It was eerily similar to the codes on the postcards – she could see the resemblance because she’d written them all down, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it before.

The train ticket was one-way and left in two days. She sniffed, then stuffed the ticket and flyer back into the envelope, put that in her bag and left the cafe, leaving a coffee and a half on the table.

…

The phone rang four times.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Who’s… Who’s this?” Suspicous. Probably. Maybe scared?

“It’s Eve.”

“Oh. Hold on-” There was some ruffling, as if the phone traveled through clothing. “Hey! Did you- did you change your number?”

“I did, I lost my phone.”

“But- but you remembered mine, or something?” Definitely suspicous.

“Of course.”

“Ah, okay, that’s… that’s cool, I guess?”

“Do you want to go out? Get a drink?”

A short silence. “What, like, right now?”

“Yes.”

“I, uhm, yeah I… Wait a minute.” More ruffling, mumbling sounds. “Yes, that’s fine, where do you want to meet?”

“That new bar that opened last week, something with Red in the name.”

“Ah, yeah, sure. I’ve been meaning to go-”

“See you there!”

Oksana hung up.

….

The sex had been… not as bad as she’d thought. Actually, it had been pretty good. The girl had been too careful at first, too easily embarrassed, but she’d known her way around a woman, and after finishing the bottle of champagne she got more comfortable, let go. At one point she’d even let Oksana choke her, had actually put Oksana’s hands around her own throat, and her eyes had begged her to not let go, begged her to increase the pressure, to dig her thumbs into the windpipe almost until the point that something would break beyond repair. It had been climactic.

Now the girl – she kept forgetting her name, was it Joan? Jo-Ann? – was smoking next to her in the bed, and Oksana eyed the ash as she tapped the cigarette off into an empty glass. There was a knife under the bed, on Oksana's side, and if any of that ash fell on the sheets the girl would die.

“To be honest,” the girl said, and Oksana groaned softly, had really hoped she wouldn’t talk. “I didn’t think you’d call me back, after you ignored my text and all.”

Oksana chuckled, turned on a side to look at Joan – it would be Joan for now – and she let her gaze travel over her body slowly, before ending at her eyes. “It’s called playing hard to get,” she said. “You’ll learn when you get older.”

Joan laughed. “Oh, please.” She reached towards the glass, ditched the cigarette bud, turned back towards Oksana. “I think I’d rather learn other things,” she said, her voice husky, and Oksana’s stomach wrung, but her mouth smiled, and her eyes widened a little.

“Such a dedicated student you are,” Oksana said.

“Only for such a _great_ teacher,” Joan said, and she traced a finger over Oksana’s arm. “How can I thank you, miss…?”

“Polastri,” Oksana whispered. Joan nodded, as if she’d always known that.

“Let me show you how thankful I am, miss Polastri.”

Oh. She needed to teach Eve this.

….

When she woke up it was midday and the girl was gone. There was a text on her phone, it said _thank you for last night. Had to work,_ _didn’t want to wake you_ _. Hope to see you soon x_.

Oksana swore, rubbed her face with both hands. Then she got up and ran for almost an hour on the treadmill until her breath sliced her lungs and her stomach was ready to crawl up her throat and dissolve through her teeth. She showered briefly, ate something, and then lingered, undecided.

In the end she sat down and opened her laptop. The location from Handler’s phone was still there, the red pointer somewhere she’d never been in the middle of Germany. She’d zoomed in as far as possible, and on the other browser tab she had the address information, telling her that it was the home to a certain K. and M. Riedler. On yet another tab she’d found that K. and M. Riedler had been generous donors to the local town’s fundraiser to clean the forests in the municipality, and on the picture with the news article had been Konstanz and a rather skinny, evil looking woman, who apparently went by the name of Maria.

So she knew where Konstanz lived.

She’d found out last night, had stared at the screen for a while afterwards. Had suddenly realized that she had no idea what she should do with that information, with all the information she’d collected so far. She couldn’t go to his home and kill the guy, or abduct his wife – she needed a plan, a bigger plan, before she could do that, before that made sense, before that would bring her any closer to the other eleven. And that was assuming that Konstanz even was one of The Twelve. What if he was one of the intermediaries? What if he was just another link, what if nothing of it mattered?

What if Eve was dead?

And then another thought had popped up, one she hadn’t remotely considered earlier but that made sense, so much sense that just thinking it filled her with dread. Eve wasn’t dead – Eve just didn’t care anymore. Oh, her ribs had popped like twigs, her heart ripped itself to shreds but she couldn't stop the thoughts from coming – she was nothing more than a source of information to Eve, just a lead to The Twelve, a tool, just like she was to The Twelve, and Oksana had become a redundant, outdated source. For all she knew, Eve was probably already on Konstanz’ track, maybe she’d already caught him, and here she was, sat behind her laptop waiting for a job that had become as useless as herself.

She’d started breathing really, really fast, way too shallow, and she’d felt light-headed, nauseous. That’s when she’d closed the laptop, gotten her phone and called that girl, did everything she could to think about something else.

But now she was still in the same situation. It was less acute than yesterday, her mind a bit calmer, but oh, the thoughts about Eve hurt worse than that fucking knife.

She rolled her ring around her finger absentmindedly, felt the scripture below her fingertips, took a couple of deep breaths. Then she closed the browser, launched her work VPN and opened the portal where she always entered codes for her jobs. She took the retreat flyer and copied the code into the portal, pressed enter, waited.

For a moment she didn’t think it worked. Then the page suddenly displayed a loading symbol, and Oksana leaned forward in anticipation, held her breath – only to be disappointed when she was presented with an error: _job not found_. She cursed. So much for her paranoia.

Muttering swears under her breath, she closed the portal and logged out of the VPN, took out her phone but there was nothing, nothing from no one, nothing from Eve. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

She moused to a small icon of an eye, double clicked, started the program that maintained a clone of Eve’s phone and laptop.It had been a while since she’d last opened it, she’d been afraid, afraid of finding out that nothing had changed and that Eve had actually died and that the silence would prove it, and so the time that she would have used to spend reading up on Eve’s messages and e-mails and calls now went into outrageous online shopping sprees for clothes that always failed to live up to the expectations upon arrival. She'd sent almost everything back.

“Alright, Eve,” she said to herself as the data of the past month loaded. “What have you been up to?”

Her eyes darted through the messages – she found her own, saw the silence from Eve’s point of view – saw that Eve had been calling with Elena a lot, messaging her about some guy called Kenny and about how Elena should let him down slow. She saw one message from Niko, about a box of stuff he forgot moving out – her stomach churned, twisted – and Eve had replied with a time that she would be home, ending on a question mark. There was no reply from him. "Rude," she said. Eve's e-mails were casual, most of them directed towards Carolyn, containing little more than meeting suggestions.

Then she opened Eve’s calendar, and her eyes fell on the word “Budapest”. Her mouth went dry.

Eve would be in Budapest this week, attending some sort of conference, together with someone called Katia. She swallowed, tried to ignore the dryness, the fact that her tongue felt stuck to her palate, and her fingers went back to the ring, and she closed her eyes, repeating the words to herself, knowing that it would make her feel calmer: _The important thing is not what they think of me, but what I think of them_.

When she opened her eyes again she was looking at the small profile picture of that Katia, and her brows went up as she suddenly recognized her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, a short moment of prayer for a Season 2 trailer this week.
> 
> ...
> 
> Alright. Thank you all for reading!


	28. Uncharacteristically Thoughtful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO. EDIT BECAUSE OF VALENTINE’s day because KE just posted a video their Instagram with “tomorrow x” below it and I am FREAKING out by myself ok bye hope you enjoy the chapter I’m going to lie in bed awake all night now. 
> 
> TLDR: trailer on Valentine’s Day? Would they really be that petty?  
> Yes. They totally would.
> 
> ————
> 
> The Great Wonders of Miscommunication - that would've been a great alternative chapter title. 
> 
> Chapter track: [The Dø – Slippery Slope](https://youtu.be/OYXUVSC--Fs)

“A _conference_ , really?”

Of course they’d been overwhelmed with work the moment they discovered the Popova’s – work that kept them from investigating it any further, save some short moments before sleep inevitably tugged at Eve’s eyelids and she saw Kenny dose off behind his computer screen, saw Elena already sleeping on her desk. It was incredibly annoying. Especially because the address kept popping up whenever it could – when she was on the bathroom, when she was microwaving a meal, when she was waiting in line for her coffee, she would suddenly see a young Oksana kicking around a ball in a dusty street filled with dilapidated houses and old Soviet cars, would hear Oksana’s parents argue, her father throwing drunk slurs and her mother – hesitantly at first, but with more conviction – screaming at him to stay away from her, from _them_.

She didn’t share any of these images with anyone, not just because they were – hopefully – overly dramatized fantasies, but also because they tasted extra bitter whenever she pushed them away, whenever they were replaced with thoughts that Villanelle had left her to die, had used her to get out of MI6, out of England and back to her luxurious and murderous life. That there was not a trace of that young Oksana left in her, if it had ever been there in the first place.

And if she was honest, if she was really honest with herself – then she had to admit that it was exactly that bitterness that kept her from pursuing the Popova’s more actively. Because what was the point, anyway? What was the point of any of it?

The week after Elena’d broken her wrist, Eve had lost it completely after getting to the office one morning. She hadn’t had her coffee yet and of course that didn’t help, but she’d spent the whole night thinking about Villanelle, about this horrible situation where Eve had to pretend that everything was okay, had to go back to a time before they’d met, had to leave Villanelle to do her work so they could keep tracing The Twelve’s behavior, could keep trying to piece it together. That morning she’d come to work after the worst commute ever, ready to snap at anyone who got in her way, and she’d opened the door to the office and spilled her coffee all over herself because her coat got trapped on the handle.

She’d screamed, agitated, scaring Kenny and Elena, then thrown her bag on the floor, ripped her coat off, screaming still, and then she’d started crying, wailing that it all made no sense, that The Twelve probably knew they were tracing Villanelle’s kills and that they were making her murder random people to throw them off, that it was useless anyway and that she didn’t see the point of even getting up anymore.

Okay, in retrospect she could see why that alarmed them so much that they called Carolyn.

“I think it would be a good idea,” Carolyn said softly. Eve – her mascara still smeared under her eyes – sulked. “These last few weeks have not been easy on you, Eve. You need some time to recover from everything that has happened to you, it hasn’t been a walk in the park.” It was uncharacteristically thoughtful.

Eve sighed. “But I have so much work to do, it’s incredibly hard not to involve Kenny and Elena with the, you know,” she gestured with her hands, and Carolyn nodded, understood. Then the waiter arrived with their gin tonics, put them down without saying a thing – he probably thought that was best, considering that it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.

“Eve,” Carolyn’s voice was very careful. “I cannot afford to lose you in this. It is too important, and you are too valuable. I want you to take care of yourself, and I want to help you to do that. Go to the conference, visit the city’s spa’s – they’re wonderful. Let go a little.” And then she actually reached out over the table and took Eve’s hands, squeezed them shortly before letting go again.

All of a sudden, Eve felt tears burn in her eyes. She blinked them away, didn’t want Carolyn to see, but she knew she had. “You’re probably right,” she muttered, and Carolyn smiled.

“It’s going to be a great week. And, you know, it won’t be a complete holiday. The conference might be interesting to you, and you’re not going to be alone.”

Eve blinked, she was pretty sure the tears were gone now. “Elena?”

“No,” Carolyn looked really pleased with herself. “You’re going together with Katia.”

Eve’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?” She leaned over the table, continued in a hushed tone: “She knows I’m onto her, I’m telling you, she _knows_.”

“Eve,” Carolyn took a large sip of her drink. “Even if she did, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, there is nothing she can do about it except complain to me, and she hasn’t yet.” She eyed Eve, who drank down the gin tonic as if it would somehow save her. “Of course, if she confronts you about it, that would be very interesting as well.”

“God,” Eve leaned back in the seat again. “I feel like a guinea pig.”

“A very special one,” Carolyn added, as if it was any consolation. “You’re the best assassin-sniffing-guinea-pig we have, Eve.”

….

And, yes, that was the case that she had on Katia: that she was an assassin for The Twelve as well.

Katia – original name Laura Ancott, from Portmouth – had actually been recommended to MI6 by her earlier employers and her impeccable job record. She was smart, charismatic, creative and incredibly dedicated, and she finished her jobs with almost clinical precision and detailed reports. That is how she ended up working as a double agent, eventually, one of the most demanding and demanded positions in MI6, in Moscow. Yet, somehow, somewhere along the line, Katia went astray, was led off the path, seduced by the group of individuals they now called The Twelve – and it was Eve’s job to find out where and when that had happened.

All in all it was a shitload of information, so it was probably a good thing that Niko had moved out, because now she could use his empty study to build the case in a place where Kenny and Elena wouldn’t be able to see.

She was packing her things for the trip and had to constantly resist the memories that clung to that suitcase, had to physically keep herself from bending over and smelling the fabric, searching for a trace of the perfume. She’d thrown it all out, donated the clothing to charity, the days after returning from the hospital when everything that had to do with Villanelle hurt too much. She found herself regretting that decision more and more.

Her phone buzzed.

 _I miss you_.

She gasped, felt a wave of something – adrenaline? Fear? Sadness? – pass through her before she carefully put the phone down, breathing shakily. She didn’t know why Villanelle would send these messages, wasn’t sure if it mattered – most likely, Villanelle was just trying to mess with her. Perhaps it was payback for the stabbing, after all – an elaborate scheme to stab Eve right back, there where it hurt most.

In the empty house, she felt she’d rather had Villanelle actually plunge a knife in her.

Perhaps Carolyn was right. She needed to get out for a little while.

She took the phone from the bed, and carefully typed out a reply: _Please stop texting me_.

After sending it, she put her phone on airplane mode and put it in a drawer of her nightstand, closed the suitcase and went downstairs for a cup of tea and some late night television.

….

Their plane left early the next day. She met up with Katia at the airport – it was one of the first days that she could leave her coat open, that the sun actually felt warm enough to carefully say that winter was over. Katia was wearing an outfit that was both casual and fashionable, a set of sunglasses that fit her face perfectly, her hair up. “Good morning,” she said, and she put out a hand. Eve shook it.

“I need coffee first,” she said before Katia could say anything else. “Don’t take it personally.”

Katia chuckled. “Sure. But none of the coffee here is decent.”

“It’s caffeine.”

They entered the terminal, wrung themselves through hordes of tourists and business people, went through security as fast as possible – Eve hated security at airports, it was always too hot and too sweaty and too rushed – and then, _finally_ , Eve could sit down to get a double espresso. Katia got some iced tea, stirred the drink, the ice cubes sounding like wind chimes against the glass.

“Looking forward to the conference?” Eve tried to make a little small talk, Katia was not much of a talker.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve heard a lot about the speaker, Dr. Williams. She’s done some incredible work on the female psyche.”

Eve’s brows went up. “We’re going to hear from _Dr. Williams_?”

Katia blinked. “Yes, it said so on the invite, didn’t you see it?”

Eve had not. “Ehm, I must have missed it,” she sputtered, trying to recollect herself. Dr. Williams was one of her idols – she’d written extensive pieces on female delinquents, especially those who committed murder. Eve owned several of her books, and in that moment she absolutely hated herself for leaving all of them at home, missing this perfect opportunity to get one of them signed.

“You missed it?” Katia opened her bag – she was one of those people who had a stylish second piece of hand luggage, one of those file bags, made from fine leather that almost looked edible – and took out a few sheets of paper, neatly stapled together. It was the invite, Eve saw, and there was a huge picture of Dr. Williams on the front.

She sighed, put up a hand. “Okay, Katia, I didn’t even- Carolyn told me to go and I just, I just didn’t even bother to see what it was all about. I’ve had a couple of rough weeks.”

Katia looked at her mildly. “So I’ve heard.” She put the paper back in the bag. “How’s the gunshot wound coming along? Scarring nicely?”

Eve barked out a laugh – it was not the first question she’d expected. “Pretty good, thank you.” Her hand went to the scar almost automatically. “Although I think that bikini season will be a bit of a challenge.”

Katia hummed. “I broke my ribs once,” she said, casually. “It was an open wound, the bone had ripped the skin. I have a scar over almost the entire left side of my chest, always makes people stare. But at least the bone didn’t break inwardly, right?”

“Ha, yes, that- that would’ve been… unfortunate?” How on earth do you reply to that?

“Quite.” Katia smiled briefly. “Sorry, these kinds of stories are not really making you more comfortable, are they?”

“Oh,” Eve shrugged, “it’s alright. I can handle some weird conversations.”

Then the gate opened, and they went through fast track – perks of the job – and into the business class seats. “Ever been to Budapest?” This time it was Katia initiating the conversation, and Eve was thankful for the ordinary question.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Once or twice.” They sat down, Eve had the window seat, put on their seat belts as the rest of the passengers scurried through the pathway step by step. “But that was for work, so I didn’t really get to see the city at all. I heard the spas are amazing though, and there are some great clubs as well.”

“Clubs?” Eve didn’t think her voice would betray her surprise that much, but it did. She swallowed. The last time she’d been in a club had been in Berlin.

“Ah… sorry.” Katia looked troubled. “That was insensitive of me, I heard about what happened to your partner.”

Eve smiled, for politeness’ sake. “It’s okay,” she said. Katia waved it away.

“Just, no pressure. I can totally imagine that you want to stay as far away from those places as possible.” She smiled warmly. “But if you change your mind, just let me know. Age really doesn’t matter.”

Eve laughed, shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”

Then they took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone been to Budapest, here, peeps? :)  
> Thankyou for reading!


	29. The Bare Minimum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [King Princess - Talia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43n1wghXRGM)

The train entered Budapest after almost 17 hours of traveling. She had her own sleeping compartment and had slept surprisingly well, the steady rocking of the wagon almost a lullaby, and only woke up when the last hour of the journey had commenced. Perfect timing.

She didn’t have much luggage, one handbag and one of those suitcases on wheels, mostly empty, so she got off the train quite effortlessly, walked through a rather majestic looking central station and hauled a cab outside – it didn’t take long, she just had to smile kindly to the first guy she saw driving a taxi and he almost hit someone trying to get to her.

He dropped her off at the hotel. She had one day before the start of the retreat and she surprised herself by actually being undecided on whether she wanted to go or not. Ah, well. That would be a spur of the moment thing for tomorrow. The suite was spacious and extensively decorated, the paintings and details lush and luxurious, just how she liked them, and for the first time in what felt like ages she actually enjoyed it again, felt a little proud. She deserved this suite. She deserved it.

She put the suitcase in the closet entirely without even bothering to unpack before she headed out into the busy streets of Budapest. It was chilly, but the sun was warm and she flaunted over the sidewalks, dropping in and out of designer shops. She had some time to kill, Eve wouldn’t land in another two hours, and then she still needed to get to their hotel – a rather crappy one, Oksana had seen from the e-ticket that Eve had downloaded to her phone.

And Irina was with her.

She remembered Irina very well – no one else had beaten her up so often and so thoroughly, not before and not after they’d met, although Oksana wasn’t sure if Irina could beat her if they met now. Probably not. Oksana had grown considerably, had gotten very creative in the four years since they’d last met. But then again, Irina was now called Katia, and perhaps those years had changed something else about her as well.

After the last interesting shop she let the personnel bring all of her bags to the hotel room – she tipped the bare minimum – and she went to a place she’d seen recommended in some travel guidebooks as being the best and fanciest place to eat cake. This was a holiday, after all.

The place didn’t disappoint: high ceilings with elaborate ornaments, chandeliers, gold foil everywhere. The personnel was polite and didn't ask questions - even though the place was packed, she managed to get a table ahead of the queue of very snobby and permanently angry-looking people by throwing the main water her kindest smile, giving him a long look at the stack of Hungarian Forint she had below the table. 

She ordered something of everything – she was planning on being here for quite some time - and made herself comfortable.

It was curious that Eve was traveling with Irina. Not to mention annoying, and impractical, and just very unfortunate in general, but she figured that Lemon Woman would not want Eve to travel by herself - there'd been several occasions in which Eve didn’t do as she was told, so Irina was probably some sort of guard, making sure that Eve wouldn't run off. Why it had to be Irina, though, she couldn’t understand. There were too many holes in the timeline between when she’d last seen Irina in Moscow, in that horrible training center, and now, to make sense of her sudden appearance. Oksana’d always assumed that Irina was a disposable, something that she would use once or twice in her life before throwing it away, and she didn't like her reappearance in the slightest. 

Not to mention the timing, the incredible _coincidence_ of her being in Budapest, on The Twelve’s orders, at the exact same time as Eve and Irina. Everything about it felt wrong, but the code hadn't worked, and she was not here for a job - she would be in the outskirts of the city for that retreat from tomorrow on anyway, with little chance of accidentally running into them. She decided paranoia was meant not for people like her when the cakes arrived, and they looked absolutely fabulous. She felt the jealous stares of the people in the queue as she smugly took bites out of all of them, but didn’t finish a single one.

….

She chose not to tail them from the moment they arrived at the hotel, monitored Eve’s mobile phone from her own hotel room instead, laying on the king size bed, drinking champagne lazily. The main downside of this remote approach was that she couldn’t be sure if Irina was together with Eve, but it was a risk worth taking. She would figure out what to do about Irina if the time came.

When, somewhere around eleven, half past eleven in the evening, they still hadn’t left the hotel, Oksana started feeling restless. She'd done and re-done her make-up several times, changed clothes once or twice, and eventually decided that she was just going to leave when her laptop chimed.

Eve was on the move.

A rush of adrenaline clenched her stomach and her hands trembled, she had difficulty closing her coat. She had no idea if she was this eager, or this scared.

Oksana went outside quickly, passing through a beautiful lobby and mostly empty streets into the subway, keeping half an eye on Eve’s changing location while she admired the design of the Hungarian underground. She liked subways, they were like little alternative dimensions, sometimes so deep in the earth that you could almost forget that the world still existed up above. The idea of there being air and light so far down always fascinated her. What if the lights went off suddenly? How many people would die in that complete darkness? The fantasy sent shivers down her spine, even though it simultaneously terrified her.

The journey was relatively short but every minute felt like an eternity passing. Her mouth was dry, her heart was drumming in anticipation, and her steps were hurried as she made her way out of the wagon and through the crowded platform. When she got back to the surface she found herself in the middle of a busy nightlife area of Budapest. There were bars and night shops and kebab joints and drunk people shouting at each other, and she glanced at her phone again to check Eve's location - it hadn't updated in a few minutes and it wasn't as accurate as she would've liked, but Eve should be somewhere around here. Oksana stepped into a small porch to get out of the most direct street light, and out of the way of the people who walked past. She shouldn't be seen, that would ruin the whole thing. 

She peered into the street again, her eyes scanning the crowd, hopping from head to head until suddenly she saw black, curly hair, held up in a bun, bounce away from her. She inhaled through her nose, licked her lips, stepped out of the porch and followed the hair, got close enough to be sure of what she already knew: it was Eve. Eve, wearing fancy pants and nice shoes, accompanied by a blonde woman who must be Irina, even though Oksana remembered her having light brown hair, a color that really didn't leave an impression. But her gait and her posture were too familiar - that was the same walk she'd use whenever she disarmed Oksana, or beat her in hand-to-hand, or tried to prove that Oksana really wasn't that much of a hot shot as she knew she was. 

It was getting more crowded where they went, and Oksana slipped through the people like a shark in shallow waters. She remembered the text she’d gotten from Eve, remembered how angry she'd been at the rejection. But right now, as she tailed after them, s a smirk spread out over her face. 

She wouldn't text Eve again. No, the next time Eve heard from her it would be entirely on Oksana's terms, although she hadn't yet decided what those were.

They took a left, and when Oksana came around the corner she saw that they lined up in a queue for a nightclub – the sign was of an owl with large, spirally eyes. Oksana raised a brow, lingered from a safe distance. A nightclub? Unexpected, but a nice surprise: she liked clubs. They provided cover in the form of loud music and warm bodies, and Oksana could hunt in whatever way she wanted. This might turn out to be a very nice night. 

Her eyes went through the queue, assessing whether or not she was overdressed for this venue – probably not - while she waited until Eve and Irina had both entered. Then she walked up to the entrance, skipped the line, looked at the bouncer once and went in as he stepped aside graciously.

It was crowded inside, and hot. Very hot. The music was obnoxiously loud, and the room that she entered looked more like a regular bar than a club, but as she walked further inside she realized that the place was immense – there were stairs going up and down, and she saw that the main hall used to be the courtyard between a block of houses. She spotted Eve and Irina at the bar in the main courtyard, waiting for their drinks, and decided to take a look around the place first in case she needed to make a swift exit.

It was easy to get lost in this club, she soon decided. There was a room with a gigantic disco ball shaped like a pig hanging from the ceiling, and there were narrow corridors with low ceilings and stairs _everywhere_. But the music got noticeably better as time progressed and she found herself actually having a nice time, hanging over the railing of the balcony, sipping from a cocktail and looking out over the courtyard room where Eve and Irina had stayed since their arrival.

They were talking – if you could call it that in these places, it was more like shouting. But the conversation seemed to be very engaging, they were not paying attention to their surroundings at all. In fact, Oksana could probably be standing right beside them without either of them noticing.

She gripped the railing with both hands, set her lips, continued watching them. Eve’s facial expression – hard to tell with the darkness and the flashing lights, but still – looked like she was sad, or in pain, or maybe both. Irina stood with her back towards Oksana, but her body language was relaxed. She put a hand on Eve's arm for a moment, then let go. It didn’t make sense.

It also didn’t make sense that Oksana felt so intensely, sickeningly jealous.

Someone bumped into them and Eve had to step forwards, was caught by Irina who held onto Eve's wrists for just a little too long, making Oksana grit her teeth. She saw Eve making her way through the mass of bodies in the courtyard, probably to go to a bathroom, and Irina changed the moment Eve disappeared from view: her spine went a little more rigid, her shoulders squared. She took out a phone, stared at it intensely, typed a few messages. Oksana squinted, and when Irina turned slightly Oksana could see that she was smiling - a smirk so wide that the lights reflected on her teeth. 

She was not the only shark in these waters. 

Irina put the phone away and looked around, looked in a way that Oksana recognized as reconnaissance - whatever laid back attitude she had been sporting up until that point, nothing of it remained. This was the Irina that Oksana knew: cautious, attentive, perceptive. Dangerous. Oksana stepped back from the edge, into the shadows of the corridor, let a few people pass. That was the gaze of someone who was looking for something, and Oksana was determined not to be found. She counted to twenty heartbeats before stepping forward and peering into the courtyard again. There were other people dancing where Irina had just been, and her blonde hair was impossible to find between the bobbing heads and caps. 

Oksana got cold, checked left and right, the stairs, but she'd dissolved into thin air, and that was not good. She could almost hear Konstantin say it:  _very bad_.  _That is very bad_. 

In that moment she suddenly, intensely missed him. 

The minutes that followed were painstakingly tense. Oksana passed through narrow corridors, through the other rooms, her heart hammering in her ears, but she couldn't find either of them. It didn't help that it got more and more crowded, that the place was packed with hot and sweaty bodies, and that she saw hungry eyes wherever she looked. She grit her teeth. Had they left? When? How did she miss them?

Then she saw Eve stumble out of a door to her left, a door that was way too close, so close that Eve would've ran into Oksana if her reflexes hadn't made her freeze completely, put her hands out to feel where the wall was, stumble back into the shadows just before Eve would've collided with her. She cursed under her breath, tried to control her breathing. How many bathrooms did this place have?

Irina came out of the door as well - Oksana inhaled sharply, one hand to the knife in her chest pocket, but she didn't pay attention to those lurking in the shadows: she put a hand on Eve's shoulder, and then Oksana realized that Eve was incredibly drunk - she could see it by the way she stumbled, the way her face seemed to move in slow motion as Irina said something, bent over to her, and then she saw that Eve was crying. Irina patted her back, put a hand to Eve's face - Oksana winced - said something and then motioned for Eve to stay where she was, left. 

Oksana watched her until she was out of sight, then looked back at Eve, who could barely stand despite having a wall right behind her. 

Then she made a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh people I rewrote this chapter maybe three, four times. That teaser trailer from yesterday really did a number on me - the CAKE, the CAKE, people. My poor, poor heart.  
> Hope you all enjoyed this, and that I did club Instant (great place in Budapest, if you ask me!) justice. Now what's going to happen next...


	30. Do You Need a Ride?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not just chapter tracks, I call these "songs to share between Eve and Villanelle":  
> [The Howl & The Hum - I Wish I Was A Shark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2b55DtE0WQ)  
> [Fyfe- Be There](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIZomTSJHCI)

The word "headache" was, by no means, descriptive of how she was feeling when she woke up.

It was like she hadn't moved for hours, as if her limbs had been taped to the mattress in a way that made blood flow almost impossible, letting through just enough to allow small doses of oxygen to reach all parts of her body just so that they could let her know that they  _hurt._ Her head felt as if there was a blade lodged between her two brain halves and her mouth was dry and slimy. She opened her eyes with great difficulty, closed them immediately against the harsh light.

Then the memories of last night came back, hit her like a train. She groaned, put her hands up to rub her face, her palms sweaty against her cheeks. 

"Ah, you're awake!"

Eve moved a finger so she could carefully open an eye again, saw Katia coming out of the bathroom, her hair up in a towel. "I live," she croaked in response, and her voice sounded almost as pained as she felt. 

Katia laughed, shook her head. "I haven't seen someone that drunk in a long time, you have a talent. How are you feeling?"

Now Eve just grunted. "Next question."

"That bad, huh?" Katia opened her suitcase, took out a blow dryer. "You scared me, though, disappearing like that," she said, returning to the bathroom. "I didn't think you had it in you to walk, let alone make it back here alone."

Eve frowned. "Disappeared?" She got up, very slowly. Her head spun, still, and she had to close her eyes again, afraid she might throw up if she didn't. She remembered getting to the club, getting adjusted to the music, drinking gin tonics, drinking cocktails... Then nothing.

How did she get home? 

Katia was blow drying her hair, had probably not heard Eve's reply, and Eve sat on her own bed quietly, disillusioned. She was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and she smelled faintly like sweat and alcohol. She could only imagine what she looked like - a train wreck, probably. It had been a long, long time since it had been this bad, maybe Bill's birthday, all those ages ago in an earlier life. 

The blow dryer stopped, and Katia stepped out of the bathroom, looking fresh. "I take it you're not joining to the seminar," she said, matter-of-factly, eyeing the little heap of misery that was Eve. 

"I wouldn't want to risk someone else getting sick because of how I smell," Eve replied, and there was a brief smile on Katia's lips. 

"It starts in two hours," she said. "I'm going to do some sightseeing before it starts. Will you be okay?"

Eve waved. "Don't worry. I'll be there."

"Don't push yourself," Katia warned, putting on her coat. Then she left, the door falling into the lock with a soft click behind her. Eve fell back on her bed. If only she could fall asleep again and stay under until the worst had passed... But she was awake, and her brain was working. There was no turning back.

It had been such a good day, actually. The flight had been smooth, the transit to the hotel easy. Katia had been extremely helpful, didn't ask too many questions, made easy small talk after all. It got harder and harder to reconcile the robot she'd seen at that table in MI6 with the relaxed woman who guided her through Budapest, chatted with the cab driver, booked them in to the hotel. They'd had dinner in the hotel's restaurant and Eve had felt so comfortable that she'd said yes to the club, had thought that it might be good to face that demon at one point, but she'd been a bit too fast with the drinks from their room's mini fridge, and the sharp lights and thunderous bass had stirred up emotions that she hadn't been able to suppress. Katia had been incredibly thoughtful, listened to her rants about her time with Bill, about what a good guy he was, about what a mess her own life had become, about how she didn't think that he would be proud of her. 

God, she'd spilled so many beans last night. It was embarrassing. What had Carolyn said - _be discreet, this time_. Eve huffed. For all she knew, she'd told Katia that she suspected her to be murdering for The Twelve, same as Villanelle, in the time that she lost, the hours after that last Long Island Ice Tea up until the moment of waking up in her own bed just now. 

Katia, on the other hand, had been very quiet, listened mostly, only responded with some comforting looks and nods - providing Eve with absolutely nothing to go on except the feeling that something about her was  _off,_ something that Eve was missing. A feeling that grew stronger and stronger as Katia continued to be the exact opposite of that cold and emotionless woman she'd been when Eve'd met her for the first time. 

Suddenly shivering, Eve slipped her hands into the pockets of blazer to wrap it around herself a little tighter when her right hand felt a piece of paper. She got it out, unfolded it. It was an address, and a time, closed off with an "x", written in the same, elegant handwriting that had said "Sorry Baby, X" on the note in her suitcase, days after Bill's funeral. Panic rose from her stomach to her throat until it suddenly wasn't panic anymore.

She rolled off the bed and sped to the bathroom to throw up.

As she was sitting there, on her knees on a bathroom floor that was still wet from Katia's shower, wiping off the sick of her lips with the back of her hand, she remembered hanging over a toilet as well, last night, in a badly lit, cramped box of a bathroom stall: the floors had been dirty and covered in wet toilet paper, and everything had smelled like stale beer and urine and her own vomit. Then more moments came back in violent flashes, and she remembered  how they'd been talking about Bill, lightly, just because his memory was evidently on Eve's mind, before she was suddenly discussing the downsides of working for intelligence with Katia, talking about the difficulty of having personal relationships outside of the job.

Eve gasped as she recalled how she'd found herself telling Katia about Niko leaving, and about how lonely she'd felt since then. In fact, she'd realized her drunk lips were about to form around the shape of Villanelle's name when she excused herself to go to the bathroom, finding that her legs didn't work as they should, that her body was heavy and her mind foggy.

Trembling, she got up from the bathroom floor in her hotel, returning back to the present, trying to resist the waves of memories that came back to drown her. Then she undressed, slowly at first with shaking fingers, but faster and angrier with every button that she undid, until she stepped under the shower and let the water run as hot as she could tolerate.

She couldn't remember how she'd gotten home. Couldn't remember who'd given her that note. 

But she knew.

After showering she felt a little bit more human, and she brushed her teeth twice, drank two glasses of water in between and another one straight after. She got dressed and left the hotel room, the note in the pocket of her coat, went to the hotel's front desk. 

"Good afternoon, miss." The man behind the counter was young, looked well groomed, and smiled friendly at her. She did her best to return the smile. 

"Hi, I was wondering..." Eve didn't really know how to phrase this question. "I- I came back here sometime last night, but I, ehm, I... So I..." She sighed, he looked slightly awkward. "Okay, god, I don't remember coming back here last night, and I was wondering if maybe you could tell me if someone saw me come in, and around what time." Oh, if she could sink through the floor in that exact moment, she would've.

"Ah," he sounded as if it wasn't the first time he'd gotten that request. "I wasn't on duty last night, but I can make a quick call to my colleague who was, if you'd like? We don't show camera footage out of privacy reasons, I hope you understand."

Eve closed her eyes, nodded. "Of course. I would like that, thank you."

"Alright, just a moment." He turned away from her, took the desk phone and dialed a number. Eve leaned on the desk, tried not to think too much about how humiliating the whole scenario was, about whether or not he would joke about this later with his colleagues: woman in her forties, blacked out drunk, asked him whether someone saw her come back to the hotel.  _Hilarious_. 

"Miss?"

She snapped out of it. "Yes?"

He looked at her, neutrally, the phone still to his ear. "My colleague says you came through the lobby around two in the morning, together with a young woman."

Eve swallowed. "Could she describe the woman?"

He repeated the question, listened to the reply, then said: "She had blonde hair, was rather tall, and _very_ well dressed. At least, that's what my colleague thinks."

"Thank you," Eve said, hollowly. "I know who to thank for getting me to my room now."

He smiled again and thanked his colleague, put down the phone. "Have a nice day, miss."

....

The address on the note was nothing special - a normal house in a normal street, with some tall trees throwing spotty shadows over the sidewalks. It was very fine weather, slightly chilly, but the sun was warm and there wasn't a lot of wind. Eve passed the location several times, checking if she saw anything, but she was too early - the note said 16h, and it was only ten past three. That meant that the seminar would start in thirty five minutes. She took her phone and texted Katia that she was still feeling very hungover, and was unfortunately forced to skip the talk. Then she went into a supermarket and bought a can of cheap rip-off Coke to drink on a bench a little bit down the street, and a bag of crisps. 

When the minutes crawled closer to four she started feeling very uneasy. She tapped her foot on the ground restlessly, wrung her fingers, felt that her palms were getting sweaty. She also still felt very sick, light in her head and hollow in her stomach. The Coke had helped, but the caffeine had left her shaking and fidgety, and the crisps had left a thin layer of fat on her lips that she couldn't seem to get rid of.

She walked back to the location, lingered, unsure of what to do. Then - it must have been one or two past four - a bus swerved around the corner. She saw the sign of the bus stop and didn't think, put out her hand, and got on. The driver didn't speak a word of English and Eve was sweating profusely as she felt the stares of the other passengers, but she ended up giving him some of her money and sitting down in a window seat, trembling, her heart thumping in her chest.

And even though she was a bit scared, and soon a bit nauseous from the bus' driving, she was mostly, and intensely, excited. 

Budapest sped past the windows, and she saw people getting to work, enjoying their free time, drinking coffee, smoking, sunbathing. She saw parks and bikes and beautiful majestic buildings. But she didn't see a sign, no hint of what she should do next, no matter how hard she looked.

She glanced at her phone, but next to a message from Katia wishing her good recovery there was nothing. 

As they kept driving, the bus got emptier and emptier until she was the only passenger, together with a small, timid looking woman about ten years younger than herself. Then the bus stopped, and the driver turned around and shouted something in Hungarian, gestured lively at them, and they both got up and scurried outside.

Eve had absolutely no idea where she was. They'd left the city, that was for sure - the terrain was steep and densely forested. She looked around but saw nothing but trees and bushes and an empty road, but before she had a chance to ask the other woman anything she saw her getting into another car that had pulled up shortly after the bus had left. When she watched that car drive away she suddenly got scared. 

What was she thinking, anyway? What on  _earth_ was she doing? 

She got her phone and tried to find numbers of cab companies - for some reason, Google refused to show English results and she was getting increasingly frustrated - when she heard the sound of another car approaching. It was a dodgy minivan, one of those models that used to be white in a long, long forgotten period of Soviet history, and there were faded logos on the sides. Eve felt her heart sink in her chest, felt her mouth getting dry as it slowed down, pulled up at the bus stop. She had nothing to defend herself with except for her fists and she didn't trust them to hit anything right now, but she braced herself as good as she could.

Then the van stopped in front of her. The window of the passenger's seat rolled down, and it was Villanelle behind the wheel. 

Villanelle, who smiled, and asked: "Do you need a ride?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tying the knots together people!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and commenting and kudo-ing and for sticking with me as I drag my way towards some sort of Grande Finale that will hopefully be as glorious as Jodie Comer's outfit in those Season 2 interviews that are popping up on YouTube.
> 
> (Also I bought two straight up Villanelle jackets at a second hand store this weekend and I'm very pleased)


	31. More or Less Mutual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track: [Austra – I Love You More Than You Love Yourself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE9ePc0OTjs)

Eve stared at her as if she hadn't even heard the question. Oksana inclined her head.

"Do you need a ride? You look like you need a ride."

There was a twitch, below Eve's right eye, and Oksana saw that she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, the types that people usually took before screaming. But none of that happened. Eve stepped forward, yanked the door open and got in, fastened her safety belt and closed the door, all movements jerky and angry and executed in complete silence. Oksana eyed her, waited for her to be seated. Then she put a hand out towards Eve, palm up.

"Knives, please," she said.

Eve glared back. "I don't have any." She said it very slowly. 

Oksana raised a brow, left her hand hanging. The car's engine was rumbling softly in the background. 

" _I don't have any_ ," Eve repeated, through her teeth. 

"O-kay." Oksana put her hand on the clutch, checked the road - still empty - and put the car into motion. The engine roared as soon as they hit fifty kilometers an hour and made ungodly, jet-engine like noise when they finally reached eighty, making it impossible to have any kind of conversation. There were only sparse glances whenever Oksana had to take a turn and checked the mirrors, let her gaze slide over Eve's profile - she never looked back. 

By the time she'd found the right place it had gotten quite dark, and she had to pay close attention to the road - the asphalt had stopped some time ago and she had to be careful not to drive them off the dirt and into the bushes. They went around a bend and suddenly the vegetation cleared, pulled back away from the road. There was a large house looming in the distance, old trees hugging the driveway closely and knee-high grass waving softly on the hill leading up to the house. Oksana saw Eve lean forward to see the house, saw how her mouth fell open a little. 

"Aren't you curious where we're going?" The engine was less noisy now that they were going this slow, and Oksana couldn't help herself, felt too excited. Eve glared at her again, the look of surprise that had been on her face moments before replaced by a stern, closed one. She didn't reply, turned her head forwards again, and folded her arms. Oksana whistled, yanked the steering wheel a little and they hit a rather large hole in the road. Eve bumped her head against the roof of the car, cursed, and Oksana eyed her, a wide smirk on her lips, pretended to be sorry. "Oops?"

"Arsehole." Eve rubbed a hand over her head while Oksana continued to smile smugly, steered them carefully to the top of the hill and parked the car. There were no lights on in the house, and as darkness was setting in it looked larger and more ominous than it had during the day.

There was a children's lock on Eve's door and when Oksana got out of the car she heard Eve fumble the handle unsuccessfully. Smirking, she closed her own door and walked around the car casually, opened the door for Eve, made half a bow. "We have arrived, ma'am," she said, putting on her best posh British. 

Eve huffed but got out eventually, and Oksana closed the door behind her, locked the car. When she turned back she saw Eve gaping at the building, and she walked up next to her, moved her weight from one foot to the other, her hands on her hips. "It's pretty big, eh?"

She didn't wait for a reply, instead walked up to the front door and got the keys, opened the lock, and was satisfied to hear that Eve followed her - her shoes crunched over the gravel. Oksana pushed down on the handle and swung the door open, revealing a large, dark hallway. She leaned in, found the switch, and turned on the lights in the chandelier that was suspended in the middle of the hall, shining brightly on the wooden floors, marble plated walls and the gigantic spiraling staircase. She heard Eve gasp and turned to face her, feeling incredibly pleased with herself. 

"What is this place?" Eve's eyes were wide open. 

"Ah, I thought you'd  _never_ ask." Oksana stepped into the hall, gestured Eve to follow her with the same gracious movements as she'd used opening the car door. "May I welcome you to this week's silence retreat?"

"This week's silence-  _what_?"

Eve almost stopped, halfway the threshold, and Oksana put a hand on her arm to gently coerce her further inside. "Yes," she said, glowing. "An idea from my employers, if you'll believe that. Very considerate."

She guided Eve through the hall and into another room - the dining room - with an enormous wooden table in the center, prepared for a dinner for two. The chairs were cushioned with velour, the ceiling decorated with intricate ornaments, and the windows framed by heavy, dark red curtains that seemed almost liquid in the light of another chandelier above the table. Oksana left Eve in the door and walked up to the table, lit the candles, then turned around, beaming. 

Eve stared at her, one hand on the handle of her handbag, still. Oksana's smile slowly faded, was replaced by a puzzled look. 

"Don't you like it?"

It took a while before Eve answered. "You left me to die."

Oksana sighed, deeply. "This again?"

Eve looked angry, now. "You left me to die after I risked _everything_ for you. After I abandoned my job, my husband."

"Well..." Oksana bit her lip. "Technically he left  _you_ , right?"

Something in Eve's face dropped. "How do you know that?"

"Uhm, world-class assassin right here," Oksana said. "How would I  _not_ know that?"

Eve pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"Besides," Oksana continued, taking a few careful steps towards Eve. "I didn't leave you to  _die_ , exactly." Her voice was soft, smooth. "I left you in the hands of more capable people than me. What was I supposed to do, grab a napkin?" She was in front of Eve now, there was just a little less than a yard between their bodies. The silence here was very intense - just the sound of the wind around the house, the creaking of the old structure. Perfect place for a retreat, alright.

Eve lowered her hand, looked back at Oksana quietly. "But you went back to your old life," she said. And then, slightly slower, as if it hurt: "you used me to get out."

Oksana felt incredibly confused. "What do you mean?"

Eve laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, come on. Don't play dumb."

"I'm not," Oksana replied, slightly annoyed. "I'm not understanding what you are saying. How did I  _use_ you, exactly?" She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, didn't give Eve the chance to respond. "From what I recall, the using was more or less mutual."

Eve winced, recoiled, almost as if the words had been a slap in the face. She stared at Oksana, breath labored, and suddenly stepped forward and pushed her: she put two hands against Oksana's chest and shoved her back, and then did it again when Oksana regained balance, forcing her to stagger back, following right after her. Oksana _really_ didn't like it. "Stop that," she said, when Eve got ready to give her another shove, and, sure enough, Eve actually halted.

"It was to get back at me, right?" Eve's voice was raised, sharp, her eyes wide. "It was payback for the fact that I stabbed you, right? The whole thing, all of it-"

Oksana grabbed her wrists when Eve was about to push her again, held them tightly, struggled with Eve. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, equal tone and volume, almost yelling in Eve's face, not letting go of her. "I got this place, I set the table and ordered food for you, I picked you up, I texted you - I kept an eye out for you." Her voice shook, she was breathing heavily. "While you- you stabbed me. You ignored me." 

Eve raised her chin, defiantly, but stopped struggling. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Oksana dropped her shoulders, defeated. 

"I  _still_ like you," she said. "Despite all of it. I just... I still like you. I just want to be nice."

Eve's expression changed, just slightly - her brows went up a little, her lips softened, her eyes went from Oksana's left to her right. 

Then the doorbell rang - a loud, high bell sound coming from the hallway. "That is dinner," Oksana said. "If I let you go, promise you won't hit me again.  _Promise_."

....

The food was delicious. Perhaps a little cold, but delicious nevertheless, and Oksana was incredibly hungry. It had been a long day. Eve sat at the head of the table and Oksana had taken a seat next to her, wolfed down the food. 

"What are you doing in Budapest anyway?" Oksana asked between two mouthfuls. Eve had calmed down considerably since she'd started pushing Oksana, but had also become very quiet. "You looked like you were having a bit too much fun last night."

Eve sighed, put down her cutlery and rubbed her face with both hands. "I'm here for a conference," she said, through her fingers. 

"At a club?" Oksana chewed, watched Eve put down her hands on the table again. She'd barely touched her food. 

"No, with- Oh Jesus." Eve went very pale, started digging through her pockets, got out her phone and put it to her ear. Oksana eyed her curiously. "Hi, Katia, hi." Eve returned her gaze, a little less pale now. "No, I'm- I'm having dinner. Yes. Somewhere... outside the center, yeah. No, don't- don't worry, I just needed a bit of time alone, after, you know. Yeah." 

Oksana scraped the last food off of her plate, amused at hearing Eve lie.

"Yes, you do that. I'll see you tomorrow. Yeah, bye." She hung up, and Oksana gestured at the phone.

"New girlfriend?"

"I'm sorry." It came out quite unexpectedly, and Oksana's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Eve continued: "I'm sorry for ignoring you. I didn't mean to, I..." she sighed. "I was angry with you for leaving me."

Oksana nodded, slowly. Put down the fork. "You know what would have happened if I'd stayed, right?"

Eve looked pained. "I do."

A one-way ticket back to MI6 prison. Neither of them needed to say it. 

Oksana pursed her lips. Then she put out a hand. "Peace?"

Eve looked at the hand as if it was a space ship, and they sat like that for a few moments. Then she reached out and took Oksana's hand, shook it slowly, held onto her. "Peace," Eve said, hoarsely, and Oksana smiled. "Now..." they let go almost simultaneously, and Eve gestured at the room around them. "Tell me. What are  _you_ doing here?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was high time for them to talk. Wanted to address mannnny more things in this chapter, but I'll leave them for the next one. It was hard to write this in character, I feel like Oksana was perhaps a little too light, but I have my reasons (cliffhanger in the end notes?? Really???)  
> Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!


	32. I'm Happy You're Not Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People! Sorry for the delayed update. I had a very busy weekend, a birthday of a close friend, some recovering from the party, but here goes the next chapter!  
> I even have an idea for the ending. (which is a good thing, considering we have only _six weeks left before season two ohmygosh_ )
> 
> Chapter tracks:  
> [Jim-E Stack - Somebody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7X2Y0PpNHFA)  
> [Sufjan Stevens - Mystery of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WTt69YO2VI)

"I'm here for a holiday." Villanelle was still chewing on the last remains of her food, or maybe it was her own cheek, or Eve really had difficulty processing the normal speed of time - considering her hangover, all options were equally likely. "They sent me to this retreat, so I went, and I convinced the people here to leave the place to me for the week." Villanelle looked at Eve, amused. "You really don't remember anything from last night, do you?"

Eve turned bright red. "I know you brought me back to the hotel," she said. And she added: "For which I should probably thank you."

"You totally should," Villanelle replied, matter-of-factly. "I thought about almost twenty ways to kill you just in the time it took you to get into bed. But..." she got up from the chair, put out a hand to Eve. "It was okay. You talked a lot, we had nice conversations."

Absentmindedly, Eve took Villanelle's hand, let her lead her out of the chair. She felt like she was too docile, like she should put up more of a fight - it had been two months, _two months_ - but if she was honest she was just too tired to protest. She had worked towards this moment for weeks, for countless of sleepless nights, but none of the imagined scenarios had involved Villanelle being so... kind. So soft. So she decided to at least keep up appearances and push at the envelope just a little: "we talked?"

"Oh yes," Villanelle led her out of the room, into the hall, up the stairs. "You told me you were here because you kept fucking up at home," she said over her shoulder. "You were crying and puking, and I held up your hair for a little while. It's through here, wait a moment." She slipped into another door and left Eve on the corridor, bewildered, and then increasingly uncomfortable. She lingered, hesitated, considered walking right out of the building, taking the car to go back to the hotel, but in the end did nothing but check her phone again - it showed a text from Katia, saying  _See you tomorrow?_ _Not sleeping in the hotel?_  

She bit her lip, went through her hair with her other hand, then typed "sorry too hungover, I meant see you tonight, don't stay up for me". She pressed send. It was already nearing nine in the evening - when would 'tonight' be, exactly? God, why didn't they get two separate rooms?

Then the door opened again, and her jaw almost dropped to the floor.

Villanelle was leaning in the doorway, wearing nothing but a small towel around her waist. There was a waft of steam and hot air coming out, swirling past Villanelle's body, hitting Eve's face like the back of a hand. She flinched, stepped back, but then there were Villanelle's hands that grabbed her wrists and her eyes followed Villanelle's arms until her shoulders, then onto her chest, down to the scar, back up to her face. Villanelle's eyes were wide, her mouth a little open, and Eve sought for meaning but found nothing but vulnerability.

She let Villanelle guide her over the threshold, and inside the room the air was warm, a little humid. There was a tub in the center of the room, one of those things on paws, filled to the brim with steaming hot water and foam, and the walls and floors were plated in marble. There were countless candles and a skylight that showed complete darkness outside. Then Villanelle's fingers were on the button of Eve's coat, halted. 

"May I?" 

Eve's heart hammered. She looked at Villanelle's face, painfully aware of the nakedness of her body, the closeness of her skin. Then she nodded, slowly, and Villanelle undid the button, opened the zipper, lifted her coat off of her shoulders. Eve let it drop to the floor. She was wearing gray pants and a blouse, neatly tucked into the waistband, which is where Villanelle's hands ended, barely touching her.

Then she noticed that Villanelle was trembling, and the redness on her cheeks, and the way that her eyes went back to Eve's with every moment she made, as if to check if she was not doing anything she wasn't allowed to. 

And she realized that it had been two months for her, as well.

She opened her own buttons. Villanelle understood, knelt down, undid her shoelaces, and she pulled off her socks when Eve stepped out of the shoes and bent over to pull down her pants. None of them said anything, as if the moment was too delicate for words. Villanelle was breathing audibly when Eve came back up, completely naked, and Villanelle's gaze almost touched her skin, rested at the scar, the horrible patch of pink and blotchy skin. Eve saw how Villanelle put a hand to her own, then pressed the fingers of the other hand softly against Eve's stomach.

In a broken voice, Eve managed to say: "There's one on the back, too." 

And in that moment, everything inside of her fell apart.

Villanelle led her towards the bath, helped her getting in. The water was scalding hot, just bearable, and Eve sighed as it enveloped her tired body. She didn't know she needed this. Then Villanelle dropped her own towel and stepped into the tub on the opposite side, and her feet touched Eve's legs, brushed up against her, and they sat like that for a while until the contact no longer sent shivers through Eve's body. 

"I'm happy you're not dead," Villanelle said suddenly. Sternly. Eve laughed hoarsely. 

"Me too."

And then Villanelle leaned forward - the water moved, swirled, and it scorched skin that hadn't been exposed to it yet. Her eyes locked with Eve's, and this time they were intense, focused. "We need to kill them all," she said, and Eve exhaled through her nose, goosebumps on her skin despite the hot water. She worked herself up, leaned forward as well until her nose almost touched Villanelle's, whose gaze traveled over Eve's body, over the foam, the soft light of the candles working their magic. 

"We're going to kill them all," Eve said. And Villanelle's lips split into a wicked smirk.

Then Eve kissed her.

They only got out when the water turned cold, wrapped in the thickest towels Eve had ever laid hands on, and ended in an enormous four-poster bed, in a room that would probably be breathtaking if Eve had had eyes for it. With every touch, Eve lost the conviction she'd had, the anger she'd nurtured all those weeks. Every sigh, every moan, sent her spiraling back into a time long gone, awoke something that had fallen into a deep slumber, lit a fire that she forgot she had, until everything she knew consisted of Villanelle's lips and her own hands. 

"Were you angry?" It was Villanelle who broke the silence. It was pitch black in the room despite all curtains being wide open, they could see the stars through the windows, there was hardly any moon.

Eve worked herself up on an elbow, tried to look at Villanelle, saw nothing but a dark outline and the gleam of the faint light on her eyes. "What do you mean?"

A soft hum. "You fucked me really intensely this time."

"Oh, god." Eve fell back to the bed, ignored the question. 

Villanelle mused on: "We should have sex with the lights on next time. I want to see what you look like in these satin sheets."

Eve laughed. 

"What?" Villanelle turned on the bed, Eve felt her weight shift. "Is that funny?"

"No," Eve answered. "It's just- it's just peculiar, that's all."

Villanelle huffed and then it was quiet for a while. Eve could feel Villanelle's body heat next to her own - the room was starting to get a little cold. 

"I should get back to my hotel," she said. She felt the words creep over her lips. 

"You don't like it here?" The question came from a spot much closer to her head than Eve'd imagined and she started, then felt Villanelle's fingers trace over her stomach, a breast, felt Villanelle's breath on her ear. 

"I do," she said, softly. "But I can't be there tonight. Katia's going to ask questions."

"Ah." Villanelle's lips brushed Eve's earlobe. "Your other girlfriend."

"She's- she's not my girlfriend." Why did she even have to say that? "I... I think she's a colleague of yours, actually."

Now Villanelle stopped moving. "A colleague?"

"Yes." Eve held her breath, tried to gauge Villanelle's reaction, but the dark and the quietness made it impossible. 

Then Villanelle cursed - Eve didn't know the word, exactly, but it sounded a hell of a lot like something she knew in Polish - and scrambled to get up. Confused, Eve tried to follow suit but got her foot stuck in the sheets, saw Villanelle's silhouette move to the foot of the bed, bend over the edge, looking for something, and then behind her there suddenly was the outline of someone else.

Eve screamed.

The person pulled Villanelle from the bed by her hair, and Eve heard Villanelle shriek, then grunt, heard them struggle - the sound of limbs, of breath choking in a throat - before she finally managed to free herself, threw herself out of the bed and hit the light switch. The light was blinding, harsh, and she spun around, dizzy, saw Villanelle, then Katia. Then the arm Katia had lodged securely under Villanelle's jaw. Then the hand that Katia had pressed against the side of Villanelle's head, ready to snap her neck at the slightest. 

Then she saw that Villanelle had stopped resisting, and she realized that this was a very, very bad situation.

"Apologies for the intrusion, ladies," Katia said, her voice icy. Then, to Eve: "you might want to put some clothes on, Eve. It's chilly in here."

Eve hesitated, looked at Katia, then at Villanelle, saw Villanelle's eyes, wide on hers. None of their clothes were in the bedroom - she remembered the bundle of her pants, her blouse, her coat, on the floor of the bathroom. 

"There is a bathrobe on the door," Katia said, casually. If she was fazed by the scene she'd walked into, she didn't show it. Eve swallowed, walked backwards to the door without breaking eye contact, her hand out behind her until she felt the touch of soft fabric. It took her two pulls to get the robe off of the hook and she put it around her naked body, trembling, secured the belt. Katia's eyes flashed. "Good."

Eve's throat was dry. Villanelle's body, her naked body, looked like an insult against Katia's fully clothed person, like an open wound, and even from that distance Eve could see she was shaking. 

"How did you find us?" Far from an original question, but time - time was of the essence. Eve's brain, still recovering from the beating of the previous night, was working at top speed. 

"I'm not playing your games, Eve." Katia smiled, the whole scenario absolutely unsettling. "I didn't really mean for you to be here, but you were together all the time. I had to pick a moment, you know? It was cold outside."

Villanelle grunted and Katia's face twitched. She pulled in the arm a little further, and Villanelle clawed at Katia's skin, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, and for the first time since Eve'd met her she saw panic, true, sheer panic. It was terrifying. 

Then she saw the gun.

It was at on the floor, at the corner of the bed, behind one of the posts, just where Katia couldn't see it. She gasped, yanked her eyes back to Katia's - just in time, Katia looked back at her, a satisfied look on her face. "You might want to look away for this one," Katia whispered.

"No!" Eve fell forwards, onto her hands and knees. "Please, Katia,  _please_." There were tears, they were there so easily, as if they'd been there all that time, waiting for their cue, and she sobbed, crawled forwards a little further, put her hands up in front of her, pleading. "Please, don't kill her."

Katia sighed. "You have ten seconds to look away."

Eve cried louder, bent her head, put her hands down in front of her.

"Ten..."

The gun was an inch away from her left hand. 

"Nine..."

Her breath was unsteady, her heart in her throat. She could see Villanelle's feet move, could see her shake, heard her gurgle.

"Eight..."

She looked through her curls, saw Katia moving her eyes towards Villanelle's face. 

"Seven..."

Eve took a deep breath. 

"Six..."

The gun was cold, heavy, but she pulled it up, aimed, took just enough time to see Katia turn her face back to Eve, to see her eyes grow wide, before she squeezed the trigger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it! Getting the a-team together on a final mission, eh? :)


	33. Alligators in Shallow Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is monstrously delayed. My sincere apologies to all of you.  
> Chapter track: [Austra – Utopia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rzmhbiKUo0)

The thud of Katia’s body to the floor would be something that Eve would continue to dream about for many, many years after. Dreams that would wake her up, bathing in sweat, heart hammering in her throat – awoken by the rush of adrenaline and the sickening thrill in her stomach, shaking hands, the sound of the gun clattering to the wooden floor. Villanelle stood bent over, coughing, her whole body heaving with each painful gasp for air, and Eve still sat on her knees, her hands out in front of her, staring at her fingers.

There was no blood on them. They were clean, and looked just like they’d had for her whole life – she knew her hands very intimately, knew the little scar on her left pinky finger from that time she’d fallen from a tree and broken it. But now her hands looked like they belonged to someone else. Someone strange, yet familiar – someone she started to know. Someone she started to become.

“I thought you were a lousy shot,” Villanelle’s voice sounded strained, tight. Eve looked up from the stranger’s hands, saw Villanelle’s form trembling, her pale face, the left side of it covered in a thin spray of blood.

“I am,” Eve heard herself reply. Villanelle grunted, stepped away from Katia’s body, looked at it and then spat on her – her spit was pink. Eve thought she might be sick.

Then, in the depths of herself, she stumbled upon some sort of resolve. The panic dissipated, was replaced by a cold sort of acceptation: her hands were her own. Her actions were her own. She had shot someone. She had killed someone, on purpose, willingly. And, she realized, with no regrets.

Villanelle crouched next to Katia’s body, was rummaging through her pockets. “We should leave,” Eve said, getting to her feet slowly, picking the gun up from the floor. “And you should put on some clothes.”

Villanelle hummed in agreement, then showed Eve the car keys she’d picked from Katia’s pockets: they were from a Ford car, a very new one too, judging by the state of the keychain.

They put Katia’s body into the back of the dodgy van. This was the second time she was carrying a dead body outside in the dead of night, and it was considerably easier than the first time.

“Should we clean up?” She closed the back doors of the van.

Villanelle shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said. “Police will come, they will do some investigation, but there will be no body, no murder weapon, and I left a fake ID at the counter. Even if the personnel could provide a reasonable description of what I look like...” she smiled, smugly. “…Only you’ve been able to find me, so far.”

Eve set her lips, nodded. This was her new reality, after all.

Then Villanelle offered her Katia’s car keys. She looked at them, then at Villanelle, puzzled, who shook them. “You should take these,” she said, “unless you want to park the van with the body somewhere.”

“But I don’t know the car is,” Eve said, hesitantly taking the keys. Villanelle smiled softly at that.

“It’ll be parked towards the main road,” she said. “You can drive that part with me.”

Eve looked at the van. “No, that’s okay,” she said, slowly. “I’d like to walk a little.”

Villanelle shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She unlocked the van, then turned around to Eve as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.

“Well,” Eve put the keys in her coat pocket, shifted her weight to her other foot, a little awkward. “I’ll see you at Katia’s car…?”

Something changed on Villanelle’s face – it was almost invisible, almost too smal to notice. Her brows twitched a little, her eyes widened slightly, her mouth trembled. Then it was gone again, and she nodded. “Wait for me,” she said. Asked.

Eve smiled. “I will.”

….

The walk to the main road was quiet, and dark, and she regretted it a little because she couldn’t find a patch of road without holes and stumbled several times, fell as well. Her phone was dead empty and the light of just the stars was simply not enough, and by the time that the taillights from the van had disappeared from sight it grew ink black dark. After a while the rumbling from the van’s enginge died out as well and she found herself in the middle of a rustling, dark forest, which was by far not as quiet as she’d thought. She heard owls hooting, things shuffling in the bushes, the creaking of trunks in the wind, the rustling of leaves on the ground.

She wrapped her coat around herself, a little anxious, and stumbled forward. Had the road been this long, on her way here? She hadn’t been paying attention, had been solely focused on not launching herself at Villanelle’s smug, beautiful face.

Katia, dropping to the ground.

A shiver ran down her spine, her mouth went dry. Villanelle took the gun – it had been very natural to hand it over to her, she barely asked for it, just put up her hand and Eve had put the weapon in it. Villanelle’s hands were made for guns. Eve’s were still a little new to the game.

Then she saw the main road – it was a larger patch of inky blackness on the ground, with straight edges – and sure enough, there was the car: a brand new Ford Mustang, gleaming in the little light that came through the canopy, more black on black. She unlocked the car from a distance and the lights went on, showed the metallic shine of a deep, dark green finish.

The car still smelled new, the leather creaked under her weight when she got in. The interior was polished, the windows tinted, and Eve felt as if she’d stepped into a spaceship. She put her hands on the steering wheel, then absentmindedly adjusted the seat to her own length, erased Katia's presence.

She had to wait for another good half an hour, and she’d actually fallen asleep when there was a short rap on the window that woke her up, startled. Villanelle was outside the car, pointed at the door, mouthed something, and Eve realized that the car must’ve locked automatically.

When Villanelle got in she smelled the outside air, heard the wind howling, and there were some leaves that got in with Villanelle, who closed the door behind her. Then she looked at Eve, who suddenly understood that she was supposed to do the driving now, that she was supposed to start the car.

She didn’t get a chance to – Villanelle leaned in from the passenger’s seat and kissed Eve, her lips cold from the outside air, and Eve found herself kissing Villanelle back, her heart racing. She went through Villanelle’s hair with a hand, cupped it behind her head, pulled her closer, and Villanelle’s hand trailed up over Eve’s leg.

The thud of Katia’s body.

Villanelle’s hand reached up, up, up, her fingers pressed against Eve’s willingness, her teeth bit into Eve’s lower lip.

The weight of the gun in her hand, the coldness of the trigger under her fingertip.

She undid the button of her jeans and Villanelle didn’t waste a moment, slid her hand between Eve’s legs, and her fingers worked with the arousal, the excitement of the conflict that waged in Eve’s insides, the thrill of the power and the rush of death.

Eve realized that she should probably take up therapy, but that realization came a long time after she did – with shocks, and more noise than she thought she would produce.

And Villanelle looked at her like she was the most beautiful piece of art she’d ever helped create.

….

Eve drove until the morning came, and Villanelle talked a lot – about random things, about the coffee shop girl who’d sent Eve that text, about Paris, about national anthems and why she liked them, and Eve found herself enjoying finding out about these sides of Villanelle’s life. But she was also asleep for some of the parts of the journey, and Eve’s thoughts were dark in those moments, swirled somewhere below the surface like alligators in shallow water.

They stopped at a gas station just across the Austrian border to get coffee – Club Mate, for Villanelle – some food, and to pee. The air was cold, fresh, and there were mountains looming in the distance. The cashier was brief, but polite, and Villanelle paid with cash. They drank their drinks inside the station, saw the light of the morning coming slowly.

“How long do you think before they find us?”

Eve looked at Villanelle. “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I don’t think they are actively looking for us yet.”

Villanelle squinted, sipped from the soda. Eve sighed. “At least my people are not looking for us, Carolyn still thinks we’re at that conference. We weren’t asked to report back, and I don’t think she was keeping tabs on us.”

 _"Of course_ she was keeping an eye on you.” Villanelle looked amused. “Have you even looked at your own track record?”

Eve blushed a little.

“The Twelve, though...” Villanelle stared out of the window now. “They will be debriefing Katia today. Or will be expecting to debrief her today. When they don’t...”

Eve nodded, put down her empty cup. "Why do you think they put an order out for you?"

Villanelle exhaled. "I told you, I don't know," she said, thoughtfully. "I don't think it has anything to do with my jobs. They were all fine."

Eve studied her features. "Perhaps they were hoping I would come looking for you," she said, softly. Carefully. 

"Which you didn't." It was almost an accusation, almost, and Eve sighed.

"Which I didn't."

It was quiet. Villanelle looked back at her, she could feel her eyes on the side of her face. “I can drive now if you want to,” she suggested. “You should probably sleep. You look tired.”

“Thanks,” Eve said hoarsely.

“You’re welcome.” It sounded a little confused.

She followed Villanelle outside, constricted in her own thoughts, the veins that had grown over her ankles and calves, wrapped themselves around her thighs and waist, crept up over her breasts and tickled at her throat.

“We’ll go faster once we get to Germany,” Villanelle said after she started up the engine and the navigation pane opened. Their estimated time of arrival lay somewhere around noon, which would either be exactly in time or too late. “The Autobahn is made for cars like these.”

Eve looked at her, at the smooth movements she used to shift, the ease with which she steered them through the mountain roads towards the highway. She hummed, looked through the windshield, saw the sun rising over the mountains.

Time to pay Konstanz a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and sticking with this new slow pace of writing - I'm trying to write as much as I can but my life's gotten a bit busy these last two weeks. I hope to get back to you with the next one sooner than this one!


	34. Can I Kill Him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going classical for this one, folks.  
> Chapter tracks:  
> [Johannes Brahms - Hungarian Dance No.5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nzo3atXtm54)  
> [Edvard Grieg - In the Hall of the Mountain King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLp_Hh6DKWc)

The car soared over the Autobahn and Eve was fast asleep in the passenger's seat. 

Oksana loved driving. It was freedom, in more than one way: a car gave you passage to wherever you wanted to go, in whatever speed and using whichever route. Especially with a car like this one, that responded to even the slightest touch of her foot with a low roar and a thrilling acceleration. And she loved the nasty looks of the men in the Mercedes-Benz'es and the BMW's when she overtook them, smiled at them cheekily. 

It would be another hour to Konstanz' address, and Oksana found herself strangely excited. It felt a little bit like how it had been in Amsterdam - but at the same time, it was nothing like then. No, actually, it was nothing like Amsterdam. It was wildly different.

Something about Eve had changed. And if she was honest, Oksana had severely underestimated her.

She swallowed, remembering the terror she'd felt when Irina's arm had been locked around her throat. Remembered how it had been fresh, new, unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. How, in that moment, when she tried to free herself and failed, she had suddenly realized that she was going to die and that she desperately didn't want to. Especially when Eve fell to her knees and pleaded, begged Irina to spare Oksana - which was bound to fail - all hope had left her body, and her fingers had went numb and cold, and her lips had trembled with the tears that burned in her eyes. 

But then Eve shot Irina, and her whole world sort of went upside down. She recalled the surge of life exploding in her stomach, how it spread through her limbs like fireworks. How every breath had been like icy blades in her throat. And the eruption of something intensely hot, something round and soft, a feeling she barely recognized, when she looked at Eve, realized that she'd saved her life. 

She glanced sideways at Eve's sleeping face, how her head was propped up against the seat with her scarf. Oksana's hands trembled at the steering wheel. She swallowed again, blinked a few times furiously, focused on overtaking a Tesla over the right lane, snapped out of it. 

They had caught up on quite some time, the ETA was around eleven thirty now. Oksana took an exit to a gas station, and the deceleration woke Eve up. "Are we there?" Her voice was still slurry from sleep.

"Not yet," Oksana replied. "I figured you might want to pee before we get there."

Eve hummed. "Clever thinking."

Oksana stopped the car and they got out, stretched. It smelled like gas station - petrol, exhaust fumes and stale urine. Oksana missed her perfumes, her personal care products, sorely. She waited for Eve to return, watched some other people doing their gas station business, considered buying some candy. 

"I called Carolyn." Eve came walking back, wiping her hands off on her coat. Oksana blinked, incredulously, yet not entirely surprised.

"Lemon woman? Why?"

Eve looked at her, and Villanelle could see that there was no arguing with her, not while she had her mouth set like that. "Because I want to catch Konstanz," she said, plainly. "And use him to get the rest."

Oksana hummed. "When did you call her?"

"At the bathrooms," Eve said, staring into the distance, at the passing cars on the highway. "Of our last stop. Katia had a charger in the car."

"I see." Oksana thought for a moment. "Did you tell her what happened?"

"I did." Eve's eyes flashed. "She is happy you're not dead."

Now  _that_ was a surprise. "She is?"

"Oh, yeah." Eve laughed. "I think she knows I wouldn't be of any help if you'd died."

Oksana frowned. "Why?"

Eve shook her head, went through her hair with a hand. "Because- well. I don't work very well when I'm sad."

There it was again - that soft, warm feeling, like a balloon in her guts, pushing at her ribs. Oksana inhaled sharply, punctured the inflated bag of feelings. Eve also seemed a little forlorn, continued: "Anyhow- Carolyn is sending a team to assist us. It will be a big operation."

Oksana pulled up her nose, but Eve interrupted her before she could say anything. "I promise, this time they are not here to arrest you."

"How can you be so sure?" Her voice was defiant. The gas station was not a proper background for this conversation, there were too many eyes and ears, too much wind tugging at their coats and hair. "You didn't know they were going to arrest me last time." Oksana wanted the comfort of the car's seating, the feeling of being pressed into the leather at high speeds, the closure of the doors and the tinted windows.

Eve's eyes flashed. "You'll have to believe me." 

Oksana blew her cheeks out. "Alright," she said, even though she didn't feel alright at all. In fact, all of her cells resisted the notion of trusting someone else but herself - they twisted and wrung inside of her, screaming danger. She ignored it, cocked her head. "So what's the plan?"

....

They met up with the tactical team about ten minutes out of Konstanz' address. Being a millionaire, the house was more of a mansion than anything else - located in the middle of a dense forest, on the slope of a hill, it was nothing short of a modern castle. He had no neighbors, and there was only one road to and from his property. This would be interesting. 

Oksana listened to the tac team's instructions even though she had absolutely no intention of obeying them, but she soon found out that they had a certain methodology to their work that actually made sense. Actually, some of their planned actions were rather smart, and she leaned forward a bit more to catch a glimpse of their charts and drawings, the way they organized their work. Might come in handy, later. 

The roles were divided pretty smoothly. Eve would stay back at the tac team's van, which was more of a mobile headquarters. That hadn't really been a conscious decision - Oksana had seen Eve's face twist a little at the obviousness of her role - but she'd accepted it graciously. She would be in contact with Carolyn and provide the team with information, if need be. The team itself would infiltrate the mansion at the moment that Kenny managed to loop one of the security camera's, and Oksana would have the main role: to ring Konstanz' doorbell and be her own sensational self, distracting Konstanz for as long as possible to provide the team with cover as they took out any security agent on the premise. 

"Can I kill him?" 

All heads turned to her, including Eve's. "...No," the main guy - what was his name, Evan? - said, slowly. "You may not."

"You shouldn't," Eve added. 

Oksana sighed. "Boring."

The team continued discussing some unimportant details. "Then can I kill some of his guards?"

This time Evan shared a look with Eve. Then he cleared his throat and said, carefully: "As long as it doesn't interfere with your job - having a conversation with Konstanz... Then I don't see why not."

Satisfied, Oksana crossed her arms. "Good."

....

Preparations were swift, and people took up their positions. Oksana walked towards the Mustang, the keys loosely dangling from her index finger, when she heard footsteps behind her. It was Eve, who tailed after her at a pace slightly above walking, but definitely below running. It looked uncomfortable, and Oksana grinned, put her hands on her hips, steadied herself.

"Are you here to wish me good luck?" Her voice was smooth, had the right pitch to it - the line was a thing she'd seen in movies, too. So far, that knowledge had served her pretty well.

Eve smiled. "No," she said, before stepping forward and kissing Oksana slowly. The affection took her by surprise, the kiss softer than she'd expected. "I'm here to wish you a good time," Eve whispered. "Have fun. But not too much."

Oksana grinned. "You know me so well."

Eve looked amused. "It's my job," she said matter-of-factly. And Oksana's chest swelled with pride.

Eve let go of her, gave her one last, hard look. Her voice was serious when she said: "Don't die."

"I won't." Oksana made the words sound light, blase. Didn't want to give Eve a taste of what was boiling in her insides, the turmoil. Didn't want to accept it herself, either. She grinned. "See you later, Eve."

....

She drove up the road towards Konstanz' mansion blasting Brahms's Hungarian Dance No.5. 

Her blood was boiling, her fingers flexed around the wheel constantly. She lived for this, for being the center of attention, the King Pin. She knew that the whole plan lived and died with her success - and rightfully so. Who else but her could carry this responsibility? She let herself indulge the fantasy of taking possession of Konstanz' mansion after jailing him. It was beautiful, majestic, large. Typical Southern-German architecture, with dark wooden beams intricately supporting the structure of white plaster, ornament rooftops and curled edges, slightly crooked windows and a small round tower somewhere to the back. She parked the car and turned of the music halfway through the start of Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King, hummed the melody as she walked up to the front door. 

The doorbell needed to be rung, quite physically, by pulling a sturdy piece of rope. She saw the security camera, pointed at her face, looked up and smiled pleasantly at the red blinking light. Then she heard an electric, static sort of sound, before a metallic voice rang out to her from a small display next to the door: "Identify yourself, please." The English had a heavy German accent. 

"I'm Villanelle," Oksana said, her voice as smooth as honey. "I'm here to see Konstanz."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Of course." She made it sound as if he'd insulted her. "Who do you think I am, some lowly beggar?"

It was quiet for a little moment. "Your name is not on the list."

She sighed. Her earpiece suddenly creaked, and then there was Eve's voice: "Ask him to look again."

"Look again," she repeated. 

The display  kept silent. Then the metallic voice was back: "My apologies, miss. The door will open."

And at that, the door clicked - a series of loud, instrumental sounds - and swung open. Villanelle beamed at the camera. "Thank you!"

Then she stepped over the threshold.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing the end of this story, my lovely readers. I wish I could write chapters and chapters more, but my current schedule is not allowing me much time to write and I don't want to keep you hanging on a thread - maybe I can write some spin-offs after season 2, but for this story, I just want to give you all a little heads up: we're getting to a Grande Finale, and I do intend to time it in such a way that we can all dive straight into season 2 after hehe.  
> Thank you all for reading, for sticking with me and this story, and for commenting and being such lovely sweethearts all the time! :)


	35. A Brainless, Disposable Napkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved readers,  
> as time passed, and my real life pressed me to finish deadlines and behave socially (I know.. it happens),  
> I've finally gotten around to write this last chapter.  
> I'm sorry to keep you waiting, and hope you'll enjoy this one as much as I did writing it.  
> Chapter track: [Nelson Can - Move Forward](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rlz2YscJQ9g)

She could hear her heart beat in her ears with heavy, fleshy thuds. It was that quiet in the car. 

The two technical engineers that were there to support her hadn't said a word except for their names, which she'd both already forgotten. They barely breathed - at times, Eve glanced their way just to check that they were still there. But most of the time her eyes were glued to the little monitor, which showed the security camera footage that Kenny had hacked his way into. She'd called with Kenny, very briefly, just before they were about to start, and they'd talked about niceties, mostly. But she'd heard the concern in his voice, and the relief when she told him - truthfully - that she was okay.

In fact, she was very okay. Very,  _very_ okay. And she wasn't sure if she was okay with that. But this was not the time to think about it.

She could see the tac team taking their positions, just outside the range of the cameras, through the chest camera's of the team members. They took the mission very seriously, despite having had awkwardly little time to prepare: Eve had made a phone call around seven in the morning, which meant that they'd been basically lifted from their beds in Munich or wherever they'd come from immediately after. They also took her, as leader of the mission, very seriously. Eve felt like she could get used to this position. Then again, at the same time, her hands were sweaty and she kept zipping and unzipping her jacket, licking her lips, watching the screens. 

Kenny told her that there would be one frame that might get a little blurry when he launched the loop, but he'd also assured her that it would be incredibly hard to see even when paying attention. But it wouldn't fool any software package monitoring the footage. If Konstanz had any additional layers of digital security over his camera system, the loop would surely trigger an alarm. "But can't you tell if they have that installed?" Eve had sounded more worried than she wanted to let on. She could hear Kenny's disappointment in his voice when he said: "I might, if I had more time."

Knowing that, it was almost unbearable to wait for Kenny to start the loop. Eve nervously eyed the camera pointed at the front door, anxiously expecting Villanelle's arrival, hoping that any alarm would go off before Villanelle entered the mansion. She didn't want to think about what would happen if Villanelle got caught up inside the building, at the mercy of a man who was probably capable of anything. 

Yes, Konstanz... Carolyn had been against capturing him. She'd discussed with Eve fervently, arguing that it would tip off the other members of The Twelve, that it would cause unnecessary ripples in the water. It might force the others to go dark, to hide from sight even further, making it close to impossible to get to them. Eve had had great difficulty keeping her voice hushed, and had finally managed to convince Carolyn of the opposite: The Twelve were way too comfortable in their position, too relaxed thinking that they were untouchable. They needed to be reminded that they were human, too, and that they were definitely not untraceable. That they would bleed just like everyone else. They needed to be scared, to be spooked out of their holes - chased out of their dens like rabbits with fire. They would definitely respond to Konstanz' capture, Eve reasoned, and they would be right there to pick up on those actions. 

They both didn't think that Konstanz would talk. Not unless they did things to him she'd only seen in movies, and Carolyn assured Eve that the UK did not work like that. Eve didn't press the issue. 

There was movement on the screens. Kenny's voice creaked through the speaker: "I got the loop functioning." Eve's eyes flung to the one he disabled - it showed nothing interesting, the wall surrounding the premise, some vegetation moving in the breeze. Nothing seemed off. "And it doesn't seem as if it triggered anything," Kenny continued, hesitantly. At that moment, the Mustang popped up on the driveway camera, and Eve's mouth went dry. 

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," Kenny replied. "At least for as far as I can tell. And that's far."

She watched Villanelle getting out of the car, strutting up to the front door. She rang the doorbell, told the doorman her name. "Kenny," Eve said. "How is she going to get in?"

"Working on it." She could almost hear the fast typing of his fingers on the keyboard. 

"Your name is not on the list." The doorman wasn't buying it. Eve stopped breathing. 

"Done," Kenny said. 

Eve bent towards the microphone, pressed the 'talk' button: "Ask him to look again." Her heart was hammering.

Villanelle did as she was told. The doorman hesitantly let her in, and Eve sank backwards in her chair, her hands sweaty. She wiped them off on her pants, took a shaky swallow of water from the plastic cup on the dashboard. The real excitement was only just about to begin, and she was already feeling nauseous. 

They followed Villanelle on the monitors, saw how she had to wait in front of what was presumably Konstanz' office - he was in there, in his chair, ostensibly doing absolutely nothing.

"What is he waiting for?"

Eve bit her fingernails, didn't realize she verbalized the question until one of the technicians replied, hesitantly: "He probably wants to frustrate her, ma'am."

Eve looked at him - a little, mousy guy - and nodded, slowly. Konstanz knew Villanelle. Knew that she didn't like to be kept waiting. "That," she said, "or he knows she's up to something."

The mousy guy had no reply, just pulled in his lips and turned back to the monitors. Eve followed suit, feeling like something terrible was going to happen.

Then Konstanz made a movement with his hand and one of the guards at the door opened it, let Villanelle in. On the other set of screens, Eve could see that the tac team was getting into position, ready to climb the wall. 

"Villanelle." Now that she had entered the office, they had audio, albeit metallic and heavily distorted. Villanelle bowed, all flamboyantly, a smug look on her face. 

"My dear Konstanz," she said. He smirked, folded his hands in his lap.

"What brings you here?"

"Oh," Villanelle said, her voice all drama, "it pains me to say it, but it seems to me that I have become somewhat of a.... how do you say it." She wove her hand. "Ah, a  _disposable_ to you - given the way I was so wrongly treated only two days ago by my former instructor and  _beloved_ Irina." Eve couldn't see it on the screens, but she was sure that there were tears in Villanelle's eyes. "It was... horrifying to see her die. She didn't deserve to go so soon, Konstanz."

Konstanz sat up in his chair. The tac team scaled the wall, ran up to the mansion, hid out of sight. 

"My initial response was to come here and kill you," Villanelle continued. The coldness in her voice, the blase tone with which she delivered the threat, sent chills down Eve's spine. "But what would be the fun in that, huh? Killing's gotten quite boring lately, with all those nobodies you've given me as jobs."

Konstanz didn't seem to move a muscle. The guards had entered the office now, closed the door behind them. The tac team had gotten in through one of the windows, moved through the hall. One of the technicians provided them with instructions on how to avoid the other guards while Kenny sequentially looped the security camera's on their way to the office. 

"Oh my, Villanelle." Konstanz' voice was next level cold, deep frozen terror. "You didn't have to come all this way just to deliver that excuse of a threat - don't insult me, child."

The guards moved. Villanelle cocked her head. Konstanz continued: "Why don't you tell me why you're  _really_ here, hmm?"

"I want an apology." The words sounded so sincere that even Eve believed them. "I want you to apologize for attempting to kill me."

"Why would I do that?" Konstanz leaned back again. The tac team had almost reached the office. Eve had to remind herself to keep breathing.

"They're almost there," Eve whispered in the com. Villanelle did half a step back, barely noticeable, put her hands on her hips. 

"Because I am the best you have," Villanelle said. "And you shouldn't treat your price assets like brainless, disposable napkins. That's not ethical."

Konstanz barked out a laugh. "I'll give it to you, child," he said. "You've got balls. But someone should have advised you against coming here." He crossed his legs, completely relaxed. "You are right. I should have treated you the way you deserved."

The tac team was at the door. Eve looped the tac team's comms through to Villanelle, heard them say: "We're coming in in 5..."

"Which is how, exactly?" Villanelle pressed the issue.

"4..."

Konstanz licked his lips.

"3..."

"By killing you myself," he said. 

"No!" Eve jumped out of her seat.

"2..."

Konstanz lifted a gun - where did he get a gun? How did he get a gun? Had he had it the whole time?

"1..."

Villanelle reached into her back pocket, Konstanz said: "Thank you for your service."

Then the doors opened and a smoke grenade exploded, obscuring sight from the security camera's. There was a horrifying scream coming in through Villanelle's in-ear, and Eve stared at the greyed out screens in horror and disbelief. Guns fired for a brief moment, someone grunted through the comms. 

No no no no no no.

Then, Evan's voice: "Target secured."

"Villanelle?" Eve knew she sounded hysterical. She was.

There was a pause. Silence. Static. Eve died a thousand deaths.

Then, through the silence, a clear, ringing voice: "Got you! Ha! You were totally worried that I was dead!! Admit it!"

And as Villanelle laughed over the intercom and the two technicians looked at Eve like she must be completely wacko, Eve sank down in her seat and relished the instant gratification from just hearing Villanelle's voice. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, liking, commenting and sticking around.  
> Now let's see what season 2 throws at us, eh.... :D  
> -Discotits out-


End file.
